Susie could not persuade herself that Haddo's regret was sincere. The humility1 of it aroused her suspicion. She could not get out of her mind the ugly slyness of that smile which succeeded on his face the first passionate2 look of deadly hatred4. Her fancy suggested various dark means whereby Oliver Haddo might take vengeance5 on his enemy, and she was at pains to warn Arthur. But he only laughed.
'The man's a funk,' he said. 'Do you think if he'd had anything in him at all he would have let me kick him without trying to defend himself?'
Haddo's cowardice6 increased the disgust with which Arthur regarded him. He was amused by Susie's trepidation7.
'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 ass3 as to risk that!'
Margaret was glad that the incident had relieved them of Oliver's society. She met him in the street a couple of days later, and since he took off his hat in the French fashion without waiting for her to acknowledge him, she was able to make her cut more pointed9.
She began to discuss with Arthur the date of their marriage. It seemed to her that she had got out of Paris all it could give her, and she wished to begin a new life. Her love for Arthur appeared on a sudden more urgent, and she was filled 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 apparently10 arriving in Paris that afternoon. A photograph of her, with a bold signature, stood on the chimney-piece, and Susie gave it an inquisitive11 glance. She had not seen Nancy for so long that it surprised 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 the station was so long that it would not be worth Susie's while to come back in the interval12; and they arranged therefore to meet at the house to which they were invited. Susie started a little before two.
Margaret had a class that afternoon and set out two or three minutes later. As she walked through the courtyard she started nervously13, for Oliver Haddo passed slowly by. He did not seem to see her. Suddenly he stopped, put his hand to his heart, and fell heavily to the ground. The _concierge_, the only person at hand, 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 loathed14 him. Instinctively15 she knelt down by his side and loosened his collar. He opened his eyes. An expression of terrible anguish16 came into his face.
'For the love of God, take me in for one moment,' he sobbed17. 'I shall die in the street.'
Her heart was moved towards him. He could not go into the poky den8, evil-smelling and airless, of the _concierge_. But with her help Margaret raised him to his feet, and together they brought him to the studio. He sank painfully into a chair.
'Shall I fetch you some water?' asked Margaret.
'Can you get a pastille out of my pocket?'
He swallowed a white tabloid18, which she took out of a case attached to his watch-chain.
'I'm very sorry to cause you this trouble,' he gasped19. 'I suffer from a disease of 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, so that he might regain20 his strength. She took up a book and began to read. Presently, without moving from his chair, he spoke21.
'You must hate me for intruding22 on you.'
His voice was stronger, and her pity waned24 as he seemed to recover. She answered with freezing indifference25.
'I couldn't do any less for you than I did. I would have brought a dog into my room 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 groan26 tumbled to his knees. Margaret sprang forward to help him. She reproached herself bitterly for those scornful words. The man had barely escaped death, and she was merciless.
'Oh, please stay as long as you like,' she cried. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you.'
He dragged himself with difficulty back to the chair, and she, conscience-stricken, stood over him helplessly. She poured out a glass of water, but he motioned it away as though he would not be beholden to her even for 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 while he 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 sudden uncontrollable pain drove me to do a thing which immediately I bitterly regretted. Don't you think it must have been hard for me, under the actual circumstances, 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 charlatan27 because I aim at things that are unknown to you. You won't try to understand. You won't give me any credit for striving with all my soul to a very great end.'
She made no reply, and for a time there was silence. His voice was different now and curiously28 seductive.
'You look upon me with disgust and scorn. You almost persuaded yourself to let me die in the street rather than stretch out to me a helping29 hand. And if you hadn'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 wrung30 her heartstrings. Her pulse began to beat more quickly.
'It makes all the difference in the world. It is horrible to think of your contempt. I feel your goodness and your purity. I can hardly bear my own unworthiness. 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 the change in his appearance. His hideous31 obesity32 seemed no longer repellent, for his eyes wore a new expression; they were incredibly tender now, and they were moist with tears. His mouth was tortured by a passionate distress33. Margaret had never seen so much unhappiness on a man's face, and an overwhelming remorse34 seized 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 humiliated35, 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 she watched him thoughtfully. His eyes rested on a print of _La Gioconda_ which hung on the wall. Suddenly he began to speak. He recited the honeyed words with which Walter Pater expressed his admiration36 for that consummate37 picture.
'Hers is the head upon which all the ends of the world are come, and the eyelids38 are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought39 out from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange thoughts and fantastic reveries and exquisite40 passions. Set it for a moment beside one of those white Greek goddesses or beautiful women of antiquity41, and how would they be troubled by this beauty, into which the soul with all its maladies has passed. All the thoughts and experience of the world have etched and moulded there, in that which they have of power to refine and make expressive42 the outward form, the animalism of Greece, the lust43 of Rome, the mysticism of the Middle Ages, with its spiritual ambition and imaginative loves, the return of the Pagan world, the sins of the Borgias.'
His voice, poignant44 and musical, blended with the suave45 music of the words so that Margaret felt she had never before known their divine significance. She was intoxicated46 with their beauty. She wished him to continue, but had not the strength to speak. As if he guessed her thought, he went on, and now his voice had a richness in it as of an organ heard afar off. It was like an overwhelming fragrance47 and she could hardly bear it.
'She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire48, she has been dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and trafficked for strange evils with Eastern merchants; and, as Leda, was the mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary; and all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres and flutes49, and lives only in the delicacy50 with which it has moulded the changing lineaments, and tinged51 the eyelids and the hands.'
Oliver Haddo began then to speak of Leonardo da Vinci, mingling52 with his own fantasies the perfect words of that essay which, so wonderful was his memory, he seemed to know by heart. He found exotic fancies in the likeness53 between Saint John the Baptist, with his soft flesh and waving hair, and Bacchus, with his ambiguous smile. Seen through his eyes, the seashore in the Saint Anne had the airless lethargy of some damasked chapel54 in a Spanish nunnery, and over the landscapes brooded a wan23 spirit of evil that was very troubling. He loved the mysterious pictures in which the painter had sought to express something beyond the limits of painting, something of unsatisfied desire and of longing55 for unhuman passions. Oliver Haddo found this quality in unlikely places, and his words gave a new meaning to paintings that Margaret had passed thoughtlessly by. There was the portrait of a statuary by Bronzino in the Long Gallery of the Louvre. The features were rather large, the face rather broad. The expression was sombre, almost surly in the repose56 of the painted canvas, and the eyes were brown, almond-shaped like those of an Oriental; the red lips were exquisitely57 modelled, and the sensuality was curiously disturbing; the dark, chestnut58 hair, cut short, curled over the head with an infinite grace. The skin was like ivory softened59 with a delicate carmine60. There was in that beautiful countenance61 more than beauty, for what most fascinated the observer was a supreme62 and disdainful indifference to the passion of others. It was a vicious face, except that beauty could never be quite vicious; it was a cruel face, except that indolence could never be quite cruel. It was a face that haunted you, and yet your admiration was alloyed with an unreasoning terror. The hands were nervous and adroit64, with long fashioning fingers; and you felt that at their touch the clay almost moulded itself into gracious forms. With Haddo's subtle words the character of that man rose before her, cruel yet indifferent, indolent and passionate, cold yet sensual; unnatural65 secrets dwelt in his mind, and mysterious crimes, and a lust for the knowledge that was arcane66. Oliver Haddo was attracted by all that was unusual, deformed67, and monstrous68, by the pictures that represented the hideousness69 of man or that reminded you of his mortality. He summoned before Margaret the whole array of Ribera's ghoulish dwarfs70, with their cunning smile, the insane light of their eyes, and their malice71: he dwelt with a horrible fascination72 upon their malformations, the humped backs, the club feet, the hydrocephalic heads. He described the picture by Valdes Leal, in a certain place at Seville, which represents a priest at the altar; and the altar is sumptuous73 with gilt74 and florid carving75. He wears a magnificent cope and a surplice of exquisite lace, but he wears them as though their weight was more than he could bear; and in the meagre trembling hands, and in the white, ashen76 face, in the dark hollowness of the eyes, there is a bodily corruption77 that is terrifying. He seems to hold together with difficulty the bonds of the flesh, but with no eager yearning78 of the soul to burst its prison, only with despair; it is as if the Lord Almighty79 had forsaken81 him and the high heavens were empty of their solace83. All the beauty of life appears forgotten, and there is nothing in the world but decay. A ghastly putrefaction84 has attacked already the living man; the worms of the grave, the piteous horror of mortality, and the darkness before him offer naught85 but fear. Beyond, dark night is seen and a turbulent sea, the dark night of the soul of which the mystics write, and the troublous sea of life whereon there is no refuge for the weary and the sick at heart.
Then, as if in pursuance of a definite plan, he analysed with a searching, vehement87 intensity88 the curious talent of the modern Frenchman, Gustave Moreau. Margaret had lately visited the Luxembourg, and his pictures were fresh in her memory. She had found in them little save a decorative89 arrangement marred90 by faulty drawing; but Oliver Haddo gave them at once a new, esoteric import. Those effects as of a Florentine jewel, the clustered colours, emerald and ruby91, the deep blue of sapphires92, the atmosphere of scented93 chambers95, the mystic persons who seem ever about secret, religious rites96, combined in his cunning phrases to create, as it were, a pattern on her soul of morbid97 and mysterious intricacy. Those pictures were filled with a strange sense of sin, and the mind that contemplated98 them was burdened with the decadence99 of Rome and with the passionate vice100 of the Renaissance101; and it was tortured, too, by all the introspection of this later day.
Margaret listened, rather breathlessly, with the excitement of an explorer before whom is spread the plain of an undiscovered continent. The painters she knew spoke of their art technically102, and this imaginative appreciation103 was new to her. She was horribly fascinated by the personality that imbued104 these elaborate sentences. Haddo's eyes were fixed105 upon hers, and she responded to his words like a delicate instrument made for recording106 the beatings of the heart. She felt an extraordinary languor107. At last he stopped. Margaret neither moved nor spoke. She might have been under a spell. It seemed to her that she had no power in her limbs.
'I want to do something for you in return for what you have done for me,' he said.
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 hardly surprised that he played marvellously. Yet it was almost incredible that those fat, large hands should have such a tenderness of touch. His fingers caressed108 the notes with a peculiar109 suavity110, and he drew out of the piano effects which she had scarcely thought possible. He seemed to put into the notes a troubling, ambiguous passion, and the instrument had the tremulous emotion of a human being. It was strange and terrifying. She was vaguely111 familiar with the music to which she listened; but there was in it, under his fingers, an exotic savour that made it harmonious112 with all that he had said that afternoon. His memory was indeed astonishing. He had an infinite tact113 to know the feeling that occupied Margaret's heart, and what he chose seemed to be exactly that which at the moment she imperatively114 needed. Then he began to play things she did not know. It was music the like of which she had never heard, barbaric, with a plaintive115 weirdness116 that brought to her fancy the moonlit nights of desert places, with palm trees mute in the windless air, and tawny117 distances. She seemed to know tortuous118 narrow streets, white houses of silence with strange moon-shadows, and the glow of yellow light within, and the tinkling119 of uncouth120 instruments, and the acrid121 scents122 of Eastern perfumes. It was like a procession passing through her mind of persons who were not human, yet existed mysteriously, with a life of vampires123. Mona Lisa and Saint John the Baptist, Bacchus and the mother of Mary, went with enigmatic motions. But the daughter of Herodias raised her hands as though, engaged for ever in a mystic rite86, to invoke124 outlandish gods. Her face was very pale, and her dark eyes were sleepless125; the jewels of her girdle gleamed with sombre fires; and her dress was of colours that have long been lost. The smile, in which was all the sorrow of the world and all its wickedness, beheld126 the wan head of the Saint, and with a voice that was cold with the coldness of death she murmured the words of the poet:
'I am amorous127 of thy body, Iokanaan! Thy body is white like the lilies of a field that the mower128 hath never mowed129. Thy body is white like the snows that lie on the mountains of Judea, and come down into the valleys. The roses in the garden of the Queen of Arabia are not so white as thy body. Neither the roses in the garden of the Queen of Arabia, the garden of spices of the Queen of Arabia, nor the feet of the dawn when they light on the leaves, nor the breast of the moon when she lies on the breast of the sea... There is nothing in the world so white as thy body. Suffer me to touch thy body.'
Oliver Haddo ceased to play. Neither of them stirred. At last Margaret sought by 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, again raising his eyes to hers.
'I don't think you will ever get me to believe in occult philosophy,' she laughed.
'Yet it reigned130 in Persia with the magi, it endowed India with wonderful traditions, it civilised Greece to the sounds of Orpheus's lyre.'
He stood before Margaret, towering over her in his huge bulk; and there was a singular fascination in his gaze. It seemed that he spoke only to conceal131 from her that he was putting forth132 now all the power that was in him.
'It concealed133 the first principles of science in the calculations of Pythagoras. It established empires by its oracles134, and at its voice tyrants135 grew pale upon their thrones. It governed the minds of some by curiosity, and others 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 form into ominous136 words the night wind that moans through their skulls137. Heaven and Hell 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 it can give a monstrous humanity. Life and death are in the right hand and in the left of him who knows its secrets. It confers wealth by the transmutation of metals and immortality138 by its quintessence.'
Margaret could not hear what he said. A gradual lethargy seized her under his baleful glance, and she had not even the strength to wish to free herself. She seemed bound to him already by hidden chains.
'If you have powers, show them,' she whispered, hardly conscious that she spoke.
Suddenly he released the enormous tension with which he held her. Like a man who has exerted all his strength to some end, the victory won, he loosened his muscles, with a faint sigh of exhaustion139. Margaret did not speak, but she knew that something horrible was about to happen. Her heart beat like a prisoned bird, with helpless flutterings, but it seemed too late now to draw back. Her words by a mystic influence had settled something beyond possibility of recall.
On the stove was a small bowl of polished brass140 in which water was kept in order to give a certain moisture to the air. Oliver Haddo put his hand in his pocket and drew out a little silver box. He tapped it, with a smile, as a man taps a snuff-box, and it opened. He took an infinitesimal quantity of a blue powder 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. Oliver looked at her quickly and motioned her to remain still. She saw that the water was on fire. It was burning as brilliantly, as hotly, as if it were common gas; and it burned with the same dry, hoarse141 roar. Suddenly it was extinguished. She leaned 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 blue powder, and I have enough to burn up all the water in Paris? Who dreamt that water might burn like chaff142?'
He paused, seeming to forget her presence. He looked thoughtfully at the little silver box.
'But it can be made only in trivial quantities, at enormous expense and with exceeding labour; it is so volatile143 that you cannot keep it for three days. I have sometimes thought that with a little ingenuity144 I might make it more stable, I might so modify it that, like radium, it lost no strength as it burned; and then I should possess the greatest secret that has ever been in the mind of man. For there would be no end of it. It would continue to burn while there was a drop of water on the earth, and the whole world would be consumed. But it would be a frightful145 thing to have in one's hands; for once it were cast upon the waters, the doom146 of all that existed would be sealed beyond repeal147.'
He took a long breath, and his eyes glittered with a devilish ardour. His voice was hoarse with overwhelming emotion.
'Sometimes I am haunted by the wild desire to have seen the great and final scene when the irrevocable flames poured down the river, hurrying along the streams of the earth, searching out the moisture in all growing things, tearing it even from the eternal rocks; when the flames poured down like the rushing of the 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 shuddered148, but she did not think the man was mad. She had ceased to judge him. He took one more particle of that atrocious powder and put it in the bowl. Again he thrust his hand in his pocket and brought out a handful of some crumbling149 substance that might have been dried leaves, leaves of different sorts, broken and powdery. There was a trace of moisture in them still, for a low flame sprang up immediately at the bottom of the dish, and a thick vapour filled the room. It had a singular and pungent150 odour that Margaret did not know. It was difficult to breathe, and she coughed. She wanted to beg Oliver to stop, but could not. He took the bowl in his hands and brought it to her.
'Look,' he commanded.
She bent151 forward, and at the bottom saw a blue fire, of a peculiar solidity, as though it consisted of molten metal. It was not still, but writhed152 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 fell across her eyes. She tried to cry out, but could utter no sound. Her brain reeled. It seemed to her that Haddo bade her cover her face. She gasped for breath, and it was as if the earth spun153 under her feet. She appeared to travel at an immeasurable speed. She made a slight movement, and Haddo told her not to look round. An immense terror seized her. She did not know whither she was borne, and still they went quickly, quickly; and the hurricane itself would have lagged behind them. At last their motion ceased; and Oliver was holding her 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 soothes154 the troubled minds of mortal men; it was a night that agitated155 the soul mysteriously so that each nerve in the body tingled156. There was a lurid157 darkness which displayed and yet distorted the objects that surrounded them. No moon shone in the sky, but small stars appeared to dance on the heather, vague night-fires like spirits of the damned. They stood in a vast and troubled waste, with huge stony158 boulders159 and leafless trees, rugged160 and gnarled like tortured souls in pain. It was as if there had been a devastating161 storm, and the country reposed162 after the flood of rain and the tempestuous163 wind and the lightning. All things about them appeared dumbly to suffer, like a man racked by torments164 who has not the strength even to realize that his agony has ceased. Margaret heard the flight of monstrous birds, and they seemed to whisper strange things on their passage. Oliver took her hand. He led her steadily165 to a cross-road, and she did not know if they walked amid rocks or tombs.
She heard the sound of a trumpet166, and from all parts, strangely appearing where before was nothing, a turbulent assembly surged about her. That vast empty space was suddenly filled by shadowy forms, and they swept along like the waves of the sea, crowding upon one another's heels. And it seemed that all the mighty80 dead appeared before her; and she saw grim tyrants, and painted courtesans, and Roman emperors in their purple, and sultans of the East. All those fierce evil women of olden time passed by her side, and now it was Mona Lisa and now the subtle daughter of Herodias. And Jezebel looked out upon her from beneath her painted brows, and Cleopatra turned away a wan, lewd167 face; and she saw the insatiable mouth and the wanton eyes of Messalina, and Fustine was haggard with the eternal fires of lust. She saw cardinals168 in their scarlet169, and warriors170 in their steel, gay gentlemen in periwigs, and ladies in powder and patch. And on a sudden, like leaves by the wind, all these were driven before the silent throngs172 of the oppressed; and they were innumerable as the sands of the sea. Their thin faces were earthy with want and cavernous from disease, and their eyes were dull with despair. They passed in their tattered173 motley, some in the fantastic rags of the beggars of Albrecht Dürer and some in the grey cerecloths of Le Nain; many wore the blouses and the caps of the rabble174 in France, and many the dingy175, smoke-grimed weeds of English poor. And they surged onward176 like a riotous177 crowd in narrow streets flying in terror before the mounted troops. It seemed as though all the world were gathered there in strange confusion.
Then all again was void; and Margaret's gaze was riveted178 upon a great, ruined tree that stood in that waste place, alone, in ghastly desolation; and though a dead thing, it seemed to suffer a more than human pain. The lightning had torn it asunder179, but the wind of centuries had sought in vain to drag up its roots. The tortured branches, bare of any twig180, were like a Titan's arms, convulsed with intolerable anguish. And in a moment she grew sick with fear, for a change came into the tree, and the tremulousness of life was in it; the rough bark was changed into brutish flesh and the twisted branches into human arms. It became a monstrous, goat-legged thing, more vast than the creatures of nightmare. She saw the horns and the long beard, the great hairy legs with their hoofs181, and the man's rapacious182 hands. The face was horrible with lust and cruelty, and yet it was divine. It was Pan, playing on his pipes, and the lecherous183 eyes caressed her with a hideous tenderness. But even while she looked, as the mist of early day, rising, discloses a fair country, the animal part of that ghoulish creature seemed to fall away, and she saw a lovely youth, titanic184 but sublime185, leaning against a massive rock. He was more beautiful than the Adam of Michelangelo who wakes into life at the call of the Almighty; and, like him freshly created, he had the adorable languor of one who feels still in his limbs the soft rain on the loose brown earth. Naked and full of majesty186 he lay, the outcast son of the morning; and she dared not look upon his face, for she knew it was impossible to bear the undying pain that darkened it with ruthless shadows. Impelled188 by a great curiosity, she sought to come nearer, but the vast figure seemed strangely to dissolve into a cloud; and immediately she felt herself again surrounded by a hurrying throng171. Then came all legendary189 monsters and foul190 beasts of a madman's fancy; in the darkness she saw enormous toads191, with paws pressed to their flanks, and huge limping scarabs, shelled creatures the like of which she had never seen, and noisome192 brutes193 with horny scales and round crabs194' eyes, uncouth primeval things, and winged serpents, and creeping animals begotten195 of the slime. She heard shrill196 cries and peals197 of laughter and the terrifying rattle198 of men at the point of death. Haggard women, dishevelled and lewd, carried wine; and when they spilt it there were stains like the stains of blood. And it seemed to Margaret that a fire burned in her veins199, and her soul fled from her body; but a new soul came in its place, and suddenly she knew all that was obscene. She took part in some festival of hideous lust, and the wickedness of the world was patent to her eyes. She saw things so vile200 that she screamed in terror, and she heard Oliver laugh in derision by her side. It was a scene of indescribable horror, and she put her hands to her eyes so that she 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 she was 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 scent94 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 strange light. Then Margaret suddenly remembered all that she had seen, and she remembered that Haddo had stood by her side. Shame seized her, intolerable shame, 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 had seen after his tussle201 with Arthur, when last he was in the studio.
'When you want me you will find me in the Rue63 de Vaugiraud, number 209,' he said. 'Knock at the second door on the left, on the third floor.'
She did not answer. She could only think of her appalling202 shame.
'I'll write it down for you in case you forget.'
He scribbled203 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 open the door or close it. She sank down on her knees and prayed desperately204, as though some terrible danger threatened her.
But when she heard Susie's key in the door, Margaret sprang to her feet. She stood with her back to the fireplace, her hands behind her, in the attitude of a prisoner protesting his innocence205. Susie was too much annoyed to observe this agitation206.
'Why on earth didn't you come to tea?' she asked. 'I couldn't make out what had become 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 irritably207. 'I can't understand it. I waited till the train came in, but there was no sign of her. Then I thought she might have hit upon that time by chance and was not coming from England, so I walked about the station for half an hour.'
She went to the chimneypiece, on which had been left the telegram that summoned her 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 Rue Littré.'
This was less than ten minutes' walk from the studio. Susie looked at the message with perplexity.
'I wonder if someone has been playing a silly practical joke on me.' She shrugged208 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. He might easily have seen Nancy's name on the photograph during his first visit to the studio. She had no time to think before she answered lightly.
'If I wanted to get rid of you, I should have no hesitation209 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 tell it. 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 was on the table and, as she helped herself, her eyes fell carelessly on the address 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 braced210 herself for further questions, but Susie, without interest, put down the sheet of paper and struck a match.
Margaret was ashamed. Her nature was singularly truthful211, and it troubled her extraordinarily212 that she had lied to her greatest friend. Something stronger than herself seemed to impel187 her. She would have given much to confess her two falsehoods, but had not the courage. She could not bear that Susie's implicit213 trust in her straightforwardness214 should be destroyed; and the admission that Oliver Haddo had been there would entail215 a further acknowledgment of the nameless horrors she had witnessed. Susie would think her mad.
There was a knock at the door; and Margaret, her nerves shattered by all that she had endured, could hardly restrain a cry of terror. She feared that Haddo had returned. But it was Arthur Burdon. She greeted him with a passionate relief that was unusual, for she was by nature a woman of great self-possession. She felt excessively weak, physically216 exhausted217 as though she had gone a long journey, and her mind was highly wrought. Margaret remembered that her state had been the same on her first arrival in Paris, when, in her eagerness to get a preliminary glimpse of its marvels218, she had hurried till her bones ached from one celebrated219 monument to another. They began to speak of trivial things. Margaret tried to join calmly in the conversation, but her voice sounded unnatural, and she fancied that more than once Arthur gave her a curious look. At length she could control herself no longer and burst into a sudden flood of tears. In a moment, uncomprehending but affectionate, he caught her in his arms. He asked tenderly what was the matter. He sought to comfort her. 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'm only nervous and frightened.'
Arthur had an idea that women were often afflicted220 with what he described by the old-fashioned name of vapours, and was not disposed to pay much attention to this vehement distress. He soothed221 her as he would have done a child.
'Oh, take care of me, Arthur. I'm so afraid that some dreadful thing will happen to me. I want all your strength. Promise that you'll never forsake82 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 few weeks. 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. She listened sullenly222 to his words. Their wisdom was plain, and she did not see how she could possibly insist. Even if she told him all that had passed he would not believe her; he would think she was suffering from some trick of her morbid fancy.
'If anything happens to me,' she answered, with the dark, anguished223 eyes of a hunted beast, 'you will be to blame.'
'I promise you that nothing will happen.'
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1
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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tabloid
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| adj.轰动性的，庸俗的；n.小报，文摘 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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obesity
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| n.肥胖，肥大 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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47
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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49
flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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50
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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51
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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53
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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54
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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55
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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56
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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57
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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58
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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59
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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60
carmine
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| n.深红色，洋红色 | |
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61
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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62
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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63
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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66
arcane
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| adj.神秘的，秘密的 | |
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67
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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68
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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hideousness
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70
dwarfs
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| n.侏儒，矮子（dwarf的复数形式）vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的第三人称单数形式） | |
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71
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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72
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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73
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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74
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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75
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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76
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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77
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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78
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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80
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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81
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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82
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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83
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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84
putrefaction
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| n.腐坏，腐败 | |
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85
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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86
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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87
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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88
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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89
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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91
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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92
sapphires
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| n.蓝宝石，钢玉宝石( sapphire的名词复数 )；蔚蓝色 | |
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93
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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94
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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95
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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99
decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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100
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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101
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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102
technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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103
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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104
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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105
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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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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107
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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108
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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112
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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113
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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114
imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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115
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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116
weirdness
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| n.古怪，离奇，不可思议 | |
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117
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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118
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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119
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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120
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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121
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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122
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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123
vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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124
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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125
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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126
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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127
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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128
mower
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| n.割草机 | |
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129
mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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131
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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132
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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133
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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134
oracles
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| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
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135
tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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136
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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137
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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138
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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139
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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140
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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141
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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142
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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143
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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144
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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145
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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146
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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147
repeal
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| n.废止，撤消；v.废止，撤消 | |
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148
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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149
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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150
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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151
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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152
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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154
soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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155
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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156
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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158
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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159
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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160
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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161
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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162
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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164
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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165
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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166
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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167
lewd
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| adj.淫荡的 | |
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168
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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169
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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170
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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171
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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172
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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173
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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174
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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175
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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176
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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177
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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178
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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179
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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180
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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181
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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182
rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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183
lecherous
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| adj.好色的；淫邪的 | |
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184
titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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185
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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186
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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187
impel
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| v.推动；激励，迫使 | |
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188
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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189
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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190
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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191
toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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192
noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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193
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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194
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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195
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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196
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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197
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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198
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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199
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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200
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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201
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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202
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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203
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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204
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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205
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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206
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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207
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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208
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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209
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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210
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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211
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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212
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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213
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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214
straightforwardness
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| n.坦白，率直 | |
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215
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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216
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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217
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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218
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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219
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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220
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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221
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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222
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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223
anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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