laughing-stock of my own servant, I againslipped my key under the door, imprisoning myself for the night. Then,finding it too early to go to bed, I lay down with my clothes on andbegan to read one of Dumas's novels. Suddenly I was gripped--grippedand dragged from the couch. It is only thus that I can describe theoverpowering nature of the force which pounced upon me. I clawed atthe coverlet. I clung to the wood-work. I believe that I screamed outin my frenzy. It was all useless, hopeless. I MUST go. There was noway out of it. It was only at the outset that I resisted. The forcesoon became too overmastering for that. I thank goodness that therewere no watchers there to interfere with me. I could not have answeredfor myself if there had been. And, besides the determination to getout, there came to me, also, the keenest and coolest judgment inchoosing my means. I lit a candle and endeavored, kneeling in front ofthe door, to pull the key through with the feather-end of a quill pen.It was just too short and pushed it further away. Then with quietpersistence I got a paper-knife out of one of the drawers, and withthat I managed to draw the key back. I opened the door, stepped intomy study, took a photograph of myself from the bureau, wrote somethingacross it, placed it in the inside pocket of my coat, and then startedoff for Wilson's.
It was all wonderfully clear, and yet disassociated from the rest of mylife, as the incidents of even the most vivid dream might be. Apeculiar double consciousness possessed me. There was the predominantalien will, which was bent upon drawing me to the side of its owner,and there was the feebler protesting personality, which I recognized asbeing myself, tugging feebly at the overmastering impulse as a ledterrier might at its chain. I can remember recognizing these twoconflicting forces, but I recall nothing of my walk, nor of how I wasadmitted to the house.
Very vivid, however, is my recollection of how I met Miss Penclosa.She was reclining on the sofa in the little boudoir in which ourexperiments had usually been carried out. Her head was rested on herhand, and a tiger-skin rug had been partly drawn over her. She lookedup expectantly as I entered, and, as the lamp-light fell upon her face,I could see that she was very pale and thin, with dark hollows underher eyes. She smiled at me, and pointed to a stool beside her. It waswith her left hand that she pointed, and I, running eagerly forward,seized it,--I loathe myself as I think of it,--and pressed itpassionately to my lips. Then, seating myself upon the stool, andstill retaining her hand, I gave her the photograph which I had broughtwith me, and talked and talked and talked--of my love for her, of mygrief over her illness, of my joy at her recovery, of the misery it wasto me to be absent a single evening from her side. She lay quietlylooking down at me with imperious eyes and her provocative smile. OnceI remember that she passed her hand over my hair as one caresses a dog;and it gave me pleasure--the caress. I thrilled under it. I was herslave, body and soul, and for the moment I rejoiced in my slavery.
And then came the blessed change. Never tell me that there is not aProvidence! I was on the brink of perdition. My feet were on theedge. Was it a coincidence that at that very instant help should come?No, no, no; there is a Providence, and its hand has drawn me back.There is something in the universe stronger than this devil woman withher tricks. Ah, what a balm to my heart it is to think so!
As I looked up at her I was conscious of a change in her. Her face,which had been pale before, was now ghastly. Her eyes were dull, andthe lids drooped heavily over them. Above all, the look of sereneconfidence had gone from her features. Her mouth had weakened. Herforehead had puckered. She was frightened and undecided. And as Iwatched the change my own spirit fluttered and struggled, trying hardto tear itself from the grip which held it--a grip which, from momentto moment, grew less secure.
"Austin," she whispered, "I have tried to do too much. I was notstrong enough. I have not recovered yet from my illness. But I couldnot live longer without seeing you. You won't leave me, Austin? Thisis only a passing weakness. If you will only give me five minutes, Ishall be myself again. Give me the small decanter from the table inthe window."
But I had regained my soul. With her waning strength the influence hadcleared away from me and left me free. And I was aggressive--bitterly,fiercely aggressive. For once at least I could make this womanunderstand what my real feelings toward her were. My soul was filledwith a hatred as bestial as the love against which it was a reaction.It was the savage, murderous passion of the revolted serf. I couldhave taken the crutch from her side and beaten her face in with it.She threw her hands up, as if to avoid a blow, and cowered away from meinto the corner of the settee.
"The brandy!" she gasped. "The brandy!"
I took the decanter and poured it over the roots of a palm in thewindow. Then I snatched the photograph from her hand and tore it intoa hundred pieces.
"You vile woman," I said, "if I did my duty to society, you would neverleave this room alive!"
"I love you, Austin; I love you!" she wailed.
"Yes," I cried, "and Charles Sadler before. And how many others beforethat?"
"Charles Sadler!" she gasped. "He has spoken to you? So, CharlesSadler, Charles Sadler!" Her voice came through her white lips like asnake's hiss.
"Yes, I know you, and others shall know you, too. You shamelesscreature! You knew how I stood. And yet you used your vile power tobring me to your side. You may, perhaps, do so again, but at least youwill remember that you have heard me say that I love Miss Marden fromthe bottom of my soul, and that I loathe you, abhor you!
"The very sight of you and the sound of your voice fill me with horrorand disgust. The thought of you is repulsive. That is how I feeltoward you, and if it pleases you by your tricks to draw me again toyour side as you have done to-night, you will at least, I should think,have little satisfaction in trying to make a lover out of a man who hastold you his real opinion of you. You may put what words you will intomy mouth, but you cannot help remembering----"
I stopped, for the woman's head had fallen back, and she had fainted.She could not bear to hear what I had to say to her! What a glow ofsatisfaction it gives me to think that, come what may, in the futureshe can never misunderstand my true feelings toward her. But what willoccur in the future? What will she do next? I dare not think of it.Oh, if only I could hope that she will leave me alone! But when Ithink of what I said to her---- Never mind; I have been stronger thanshe for once.
April 11. I hardly slept last night, and found myself in the morningso unstrung and feverish that I was compelled to ask Pratt-Haldane todo my lecture for me. It is the first that I have ever missed. I roseat mid-day, but my head is aching, my hands quivering, and my nerves ina pitiable state.
Who should come round this evening but Wilson. He has just come backfrom London, where he has lectured, read papers, convened meetings,exposed a medium, conducted a series of experiments on thoughttransference, entertained Professor Richet of Paris, spent hours gazinginto a crystal, and obtained some evidence as to the passage of matterthrough matter. All this he poured into my ears in a single gust.
"But you!" he cried at last. "You are not looking well. And MissPenclosa is quite prostrated to-day. How about the experiments?"
"I have abandoned them."
"Tut, tut! Why?"
"The subject seems to me to be a dangerous one."
Out came his big brown note-book.
"This is of great interest," said he. "What are your grounds forsaying that it is a dangerous one? Please give your facts inchronological order, with approximate dates and names of reliablewitnesses with their permanent addresses."
"First of all," I asked, "would you tell me whether you have collectedany cases where the mesmerist has gained a command over the subject andhas used it for evil purposes?"
"Dozens!" he cried exultantly. "Crime by suggestion----"
"I don't mean suggestion. I mean where a sudden impulse comes from aperson at a distance--an uncontrollable impulse."
"Obsession!" he shrieked, in an ecstasy of delight. "It is the rarestcondition. We
have eight cases, five well attested. You don't mean tosay----" His exultation made him hardly articulate.
"No, I don't," said I. "Good-evening! You will excuse me, but I amnot very well to-night." And so at last I got rid of him, stillbrandishing his pencil and his note-book. My troubles may be bad tohear, but at least it is better to hug them to myself than to havemyself exhibited by Wilson, like a freak at a fair. He has lost sightof human beings. Every thing to him is a case and a phenomenon. Iwill die before I speak to him again upon the matter.
April 12. Yesterday was a blessed day of quiet, and I enjoyed anuneventful night. Wilson's presence is a great consolation. What canthe woman do now? Surely, when she has heard me say what I have said,she will conceive the same disgust