It was after eight that Sunday night, when Paula emerged from the elevator in the upper-hall of the Zoroaster, and noted2 that the door of the Selma Cross apartment was ajar.... The interval3 since she had parted from the actress the evening before had been abundant with misery4. Almost, she had crossed the bay to visit the Reifferscheids; would have done so, indeed, had she been able to 'phone her coming. Her rooms had become a dismal5 oppression; Bellingham haunted her consciousness; there were moments when she was actually afraid there alone.
All Saturday night she had sleeplessly6 tossed, knowing that Quentin Charter was speeding eastward7, and dreading8 the moment when he should arrive in the city and find no welcoming note from her. She dared not be in her rooms after he was due to reach the Granville, lest he call her by telephone or messenger—and her purpose of not seeing him be destroyed by some swift and salient appeal. She had waited until after the hour in which he had asked to call, to be sure that this time he would have given up all hope of seeing her. The prospect9 now of entering her apartment and remaining there throughout the night, challenged every ounce of will-force she possessed10....
Battling with loneliness and bereavement11, as she had been for hours, Paula was grateful to note, by the open door, that the actress was at home, even though she had left her the evening before, hurt and disappointed by the other's swift change of manner upon learning that Quentin Charter was to be in New York to-day.... It was with a startling but indefinable emotion that she heard the man's voice now through the open door. Stephen Cabot was there, she thought, as she softly let herself in to the place of ordeals13, which her own flat had become.
In the dark and silence of the inner hall, the old enemy swept into her consciousness—again the awful localizations of the preying14 force! The usual powers of mind scattered15, as in war the pith of a capital's garrisons16 rush forth17 to distant borders. By habit, her hand was upon the button, but she did not turn on light. Instead, she drew back, steeling her will to remember her name, her place in the world, her friends. Harshly driven, yet Paula repressed a cry, and fought her way out into the main hall—as from the coiling suction of a maelstrom18. Even in her terror, she could not but repress a swift sense of victory, in that she had escaped from the vortex of attraction—her own rooms.
The man's voice reached her again, filled her mind with amazing resistance—so that the point of the occultist's will was broken. Suddenly, she remembered that she had once heard Stephen Cabot, protesting that he was quite well—at the end of the first New York performance of The Thing, and that his tones were inseparably identified with his misfortune. The voice she heard now thrilled her like an ancient, but instantly familiar, harmony. It was not Stephen Cabot's. She stood at the open door, when the vehemence19 of Selma Cross, who was now speaking, caused her to refrain from making her presence known. The unspeakable possibility, suddenly upreared in her mind, banished20 every formality. The full energies of her life formed in a prayer that she might be wrong, as Paula peered through the inner hall, and for the first time in the flesh glimpsed Quentin Charter.
She was standing21 before the elevator-shaft and had signaled for the car eternities ago. Selma Cross was moving up and down the room within, but her words though faintly audible, had no meaning to the woman without. Paula's mind seemed so filled with sayings from the actress that there was no room for the interpretation22 of a syllable23 further. One sentence of Charter's startled her with deadly pain.... She could wait no longer, and started to walk down. Half-way to the main-floor, the elevator sped upward to answer her bell.... She was very weak, and temptation was fiercely operative to return to her rooms, when she heard a slow, firm step ascending24 the flight below. She turned from the stairs on the second floor, just as the huge, lean shoulders of Bellingham appeared on the opposite side of the elevator-shaft.
The two faced without words. His countenance25 was livid, wasted, but his eyes were of fire. Paula lost herself in their power. She knew only that she must return with him. There was no place to go; indeed, to return with him now seemed normal, rational—until the brightly-lit car rushed down and stopped before them.
"Excuse me for keeping you waiting, Miss Linster," the elevator-man said, "but I had to carry a message to the rear."
In the instantaneous break of Bellingham's concentration, Paula recovered herself sufficiently26 to dart27 into the car.
Bellingham, who had started to follow, was stopped by the sliding-door. The conductor called that he would be back directly, as his car slid down.... In the untellable disorganization of mind, Paula knew for the moment only this: she must reach the outer darkness instantly or expire. In that swift drop to the main floor, and in the brief interval required to stop the car and slide the door, she endured all the agony of tightened29 fingers upon her throat. There was an ease in racing30 limbs, as she sped across the tiles to the entrance, as a frightened child rushes from a dark room. She would die if the great door resisted—pictured it all before her hand touched the knob. She would turn, scream, and fall from suffocation31. Her scream would call about her the horror that she feared.
The big door answered, as it seemed, with a sort of leisurely32 dignity to her spasm33 of strength—and out under the rain-blurred lamps, she ran, ready to faint if any one called, and continually horrified34 lest something pluck at her skirts—thus to Central Park West. An Eighth Avenue car was approaching, half a square above. To stand and wait, in the fear lest Bellingham reach the corner in time for the car, assailed35 the last of her vitality36. It was not until she had boarded it, and was beyond reach of a pedestrian on Cathedral Way, that she breathed as one who has touched shore after the Rapids. Still, every south-bound cab renewed her panic. She could have made time to South Ferry by changing to the Elevated, but fear of encountering the Destroyer prevented this. Fully37 three-quarters of an hour was used in reaching the waiting-room, where she was fortunate in catching38 a Staten Island boat without delay. Every figure that crossed the bridge after her, until the big ferry put off, Paula scrutinized39; then sank nearly fainting into a seat.
Bellingham's plot was clear to her mind, as well as certain elements of his craft to obviate40 every possibility of failure. He had doubtless seen her enter the house, and timed his control to dethrone her volition41 as she reached her rooms. Since the elevator-man would not have taken him up, without word from her, Bellingham had hastened in and started up the stairs when the car was called from the main floor. His shock at finding her in the second-hall was extraordinary, since he was doubtless struggling with the entire force of his concentration, to hold her in the higher apartment and to prepare her mind for his own reception. It was that moment that the elevator-man had saved her; yet, she could not forget how the voice of Quentin Charter had broken the magician's power a moment before; and it occurred to her now how wonderfully throughout her whole Bellingham experience, something of the Westerner's spirit had sustained her in the crises—Quentin Charter's book that first night in Prismatic Hall; Quentin Charter's letter to which she had clung during the dreadful interview in the Park....
As for Quentin Charter rushing immediately to the woman of lawless attractions, because he had not received the hoped-for note at the Granville—in this appeared a wantonness almost beyond belief. Wearily she tried to put the man and his base action entirely42 out of mind. And Selma Cross, whose animation43 had been so noticeable when informed of Charter's coming, had fallen beneath the reach of Paula's emotions.... She could pity—with what a torrential outpouring—could she pity "that finest, lowest head!"
She stepped out on deck. The April night was inky-black. All day there had been a misty44 rain from which the chill of winter was gone. The dampness was sweet to breathe and fresh upon her face. The smell of ocean brought up from the subconscious45, a thought already in tangible46 formation there. The round clock in the cabin forward had indicated nine-forty-five. It seemed more like another day, than only an hour and a half ago, that she had caught the Eighth Avenue car at Cathedral Way. The ferry was nearing the Staten slip. In a half-hour more, she would reach Reifferscheid's house. Her heart warmed with gratitude47 for a friend to whom she could say as little or as much as she pleased, yet find him, heart and home, at her service. One must be terrified and know the need of a refuge in the night to test such values. A few hours before, she had rejected the thought of going, because a slight formality had not been attended to. Hard pressed now, she was seeking him in the midst of the night.... At the mention of the big man's name, the conductor on the Silver Lake car took her in charge, helped her off at the right road, and pointed12 out the Reifferscheid light. Thus she felt her friend's kindness long before she heard the big elms whispering over his cottage. The front-window was frankly48 uncurtained, and the editor sat within, soft-shirted and eminently49 comfortable beside a green-shaded reading-lamp. She even saw him drop his book at her step upon the walk. A moment later, she blinked at him laughingly, as he stood in the light of the wide open doorway50.
"Properly 'Driven From Home,' I suppose I should be tear-stained and in shawl and apron," she began.
He laughed delightedly, and exclaimed: "How could Father be so obdurate—alas, a-a-las! Lemme see, this is a fisherman's hut on the moors51, or a gardener's lodge52 on the shore. Anyway, it's good to have you here.... Annie!"
He took her hat and raincoat, wriggling53 meanwhile into a coat of his own, arranged a big chair before the grate, then removed her rubbers. Not a question did he ask, and Sister Annie's greeting presently, from her chair, was quite the same—as if the visit and the hour were exactly in order.
"You'll stay a day or two, won't you?" he asked. "Honestly, I don't like the way they treat you up there beyond the Park.... It will be fine to-morrow. This soft rain will make Mother Earth turn over and take an eye-opener——"
"The truth is, I want to stay until there's a ship for the Antilles," she told him, "and I don't know when the first one goes."
"I hope it's a week at least," he said briskly. "The morning papers are here with all the sailings. A sea-voyage will do you a world of good, and Europe doesn't compare with a trip to the Caribbean."
Reifferscheid had gathered up a bundle of papers, and was turning pages swiftly. "There isn't a reason in the world why everybody should know," he remarked lightly, "only you'd better be Lottie or Daisy Whats-her-name, as the cabin lists of all outgoing ships are available to any one who looks."
"Tim will be delighted to make everything easy for you," Sister Annie put in.
Thus mountains dissolved. The soulful accord and the instant sympathy which sprang to meet her every word, and the valor55 behind it all, so solid as to need no explanation—were more than Paula could bear.... Reifferscheid looked up from his papers, finding that she did not speak, started with embarrassment56, and darted57 to the buffet58. A moment later he had given her a glass of wine and vanished from the room with an armful of newspapers. The door had no sooner closed upon him than Paula discovered the outstretched arms of Sister Annie. In the several moments which followed her heart was healed and soothed59 through a half-forgotten luxury....
"The twin-screw liner, Fruitlands,—do you really want the first?" Reifferscheid interrupted himself, when he was permitted to enter later.
"Yes."
"Well, it sails in forty-eight hours, or a little less—Savannah, Santiago de Cuba, San Juan de Porto Rico—and down to the little Antilles—Tuesday night at ten o'clock at the foot of Manhattan."
"That will do very well," Paula said, "and I'd like to go straight to the ship from here—if you'll——"
"Berth—transportation—trunks—and sub-let your flat, if you like," Reifferscheid said as gleefully as a boy invited for a week's hunt. "Why, Miss Linster, I am the original arrangement committee."
"You have always been wonderful to me," Paula could not help saying, though it shattered his ease. "This one other who must know is Madame Nestor. She'll take care of my flat and pack things for me—if you'll get a message to her in the morning when you go over. I don't expect to be gone so long that it will be advisable to sub-let."
"Which is emphatically glad tidings," Reifferscheid remarked hastily.
"You'll want all your summer clothes," said Sister Annie. "Tim will see to your trunks."
"Sometime, I'll make it all plain," Paula tried to say steadily60. "It's just been life to me—this coming here—and knowing that I could come here——"
"Miss Linster," Reifferscheid broke in, "I don't want to have to disappear again. The little things you need done, I'd do for any one in the office. Please bear in mind that Sister Annie and I would be hurt—if you didn't let us do them. Why, we belong—in a case like this. Incidentally, you are doing a bully61 thing—to take a sail down past that toy-archipelago. They say you can hear the parakeets screeching62 out from the palm-trees on the shore, and each island has a different smell of spice. It will be great for you—rig you out with a new set of wings. You must take Hearn along. I've got his volume here on the West Indies. He'll tell you the color of the water your ship churns. Each day farther south it's a different blue——"
So he jockeyed her into laughing, and she slept long and dreamlessly that night, as she had done once before in the same room.... The second night following, Reifferscheid put her aboard the Fruitlands.
"It's good you thought of taking your cabin under a borrowed name, Miss—er—Wyndam—Miss Laura Wyndam," he said in a low voice, for the passengers were moving about. "I'll write you all about it. You have famous friends. Selma Cross, who is playing at the Herriot, wanted to know where you were. I thought for a minute she was going to throw me down and take it away from me. Quentin Charter, by the way, is in town and asked about you. Seemed depressed63 when I told him you were out of town, and hadn't sent your address to me yet. I told him and Miss Cross that mail for you sent to The States would get to you eventually. Both said they would write—so you'll hear from them on the ship that follows this." He glanced at her queerly for a second, and added, "Good-by, and a blessed voyage to you, Tired Lady. Write us how the isles64 bewitch you, and I'll send you a package of books every ship or two——"
"Good-by—my first of friends!"
Two hours afterward65 Paula took a last turn on deck. The spray swept in gusts66 over the Fruitlands's dipping prow67. The bare masts, tipped with lights, swung with a giant sweep from port to starboard and back to port again, fingering the black heavens for the blown-out stars. She was lonely, but not altogether miserable68, out there on the tossing floor of the Atlantic....
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1
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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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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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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sleeplessly
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| adv.失眠地 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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10
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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ordeals
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| n.严峻的考验，苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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14
preying
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| v.掠食( prey的现在分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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15
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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16
garrisons
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| 守备部队，卫戍部队( garrison的名词复数 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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20
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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24
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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29
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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34
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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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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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
obviate
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| v.除去，排除，避免，预防 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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42
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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43
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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44
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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46
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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47
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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50
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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51
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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53
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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54
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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55
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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56
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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57
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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58
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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59
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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60
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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61
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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62
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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63
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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64
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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65
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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66
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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67
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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