i read over my notes of what the woman said when she spoke about her powers. there is one point which fills me with dismay. she implies that when the influence is slight the subject knows what he is doing, but cannot control himself, whereas when it is strongly exerted he is absolutely unconscious. now, i have always known what i did, though less so last night than on the previous occasions. that seems to mean that she has never yet exerted her full powers upon me. was ever a man so placed before?
yes, perhaps there was, and very near me, too. charles sadler must know something of this! his vague words of warning take a meaning now. oh, if i had only listened to him then, before i helped by these repeated sittings to forge the links of the chain which binds me! but i will see him to-day. i will apologize to him for having treated his warning so lightly. i will see if he can advise me.
4 p. m. no, he cannot. i have talked with him, and he showed such surprise at the first words in which i tried to express my unspeakable secret that i went no further. as far as i can gather (by hints and inferences rather than by any statement), his own experience was limited to some words or looks such as i have myself endured. his abandonment of miss penclosa is in itself a sign that he was never really in her toils. oh, if he only knew his escape! he has to thank his phlegmatic saxon temperament for it. i am black and celtic, and this hag’s clutch is deep in my nerves. shall i ever get it out? shall i ever be the same man that i was just one short fortnight ago?
let me consider what i had better do. i cannot leave the university in the middle of the term. if i were free, my course would be obvious. i should start at once and travel in persia. but would she allow me to start? and could her influence not reach me in persia, and bring me back to within touch of her crutch? i can only find out the limits of this hellish power by my own bitter experience. i will fight and fight and fight—and what can i do more?
i know very well that about eight o’clock to-night that craving for her society, that irresistible restlessness, will come upon me. how shall i overcome it? what shall i do? i must make it impossible for me to leave the room. i shall lock the door and throw the key out of the window. but, then, what am i to do in the morning? never mind about the morning. i must at all costs break this chain which holds me.
april 9. victory! i have done splendidly! at seven o’clock last night i took a hasty dinner, and then locked myself up in my bedroom and dropped the key into the garden. i chose a cheery novel, and lay in bed for three hours trying to read it, but really in a horrible state of trepidation, expecting every instant that i should become conscious of the impulse. nothing of the sort occurred, however, and i awoke this morning with the feeling that a black nightmare had been lifted off me. perhaps the creature realized what i had done, and understood that it was useless to try to influence me. at any rate, i have beaten her once, and if i can do it once, i can do it again.
it was most awkward about the key in the morning. luckily, there was an under-gardener below, and i asked him to throw it up. no doubt he thought i had just dropped it. i will have doors and windows screwed up and six stout men to hold me down in my bed before i will surrender myself to be hag-ridden in this way.
i had a note from mrs. marden this afternoon asking me to go round and see her. i intended to do so in any case, but had not excepted to find bad news waiting for me. it seems that the armstrongs, from whom agatha has expectations, are due home from adelaide in the aurora, and that they have written to mrs. marden and her to meet them in town. they will probably be away for a month or six weeks, and, as the aurora is due on wednesday, they must go at once—to-morrow, if they are ready in time. my consolation is that when we meet again there will be no more parting between agatha and me.
“i want you to do one thing, agatha,” said i, when we were alone together. “if you should happen to meet miss penclosa, either in town or here, you must promise me never again to allow her to mesmerize you.”
agatha opened her eyes.
“why, it was only the other day that you were saying how interesting it all was, and how determined you were to finish your experiments.”
“i know, but i have changed my mind since then.”
“and you won’t have it any more?”
“no.”
“i am so glad, austin. you can’t think how pale and worn you have been lately. it was really our principal objection to going to london now that we did not wish to leave you when you were so pulled down. and your manner has been so strange occasionally—especially that night when you left poor professor pratt-haldane to play dummy. i am convinced that these experiments are very bad for your nerves.”
“i think so, too, dear.”
“and for miss penclosa’s nerves as well. you have heard that she is ill?”
“no.”
“mrs. wilson told us so last night. she described it as a nervous fever. professor wilson is coming back this week, and of course mrs. wilson is very anxious that miss penclosa should be well again then, for he has quite a programme of experiments which he is anxious to carry out.”
i was glad to have agatha’s promise, for it was enough that this woman should have one of us in her clutch. on the other hand, i was disturbed to hear about miss penclosa’s illness. it rather discounts the victory which i appeared to win last night. i remember that she said that loss of health interfered with her power. that may be why i was able to hold my own so easily. well, well, i must take the same precautions to-night and see what comes of it. i am childishly frightened when i think of her.
april 10. all went very well last night. i was amused at the gardener’s face when i had again to hail him this morning and to ask him to throw up my key. i shall get a name among the servants if this sort of thing goes on. but the great point is that i stayed in my room without the slightest inclination to leave it. i do believe that i am shaking myself clear of this incredible bond—or is it only that the woman’s power is in abeyance until she recovers her strength? i can but pray for the best.
the mardens left this morning, and the brightness seems to have gone out of the spring sunshine. and yet it is very beautiful also as it gleams on the green chestnuts opposite my windows, and gives a touch of gayety to the heavy, lichen-mottled walls of the old colleges. how sweet and gentle and soothing is nature! who would think that there lurked in her also such vile forces, such odious possibilities! for of course i understand that this dreadful thing which has sprung out at me is neither supernatural nor even preternatural. no, it is a natural force which this woman can use and society is ignorant of. the mere fact that it ebbs with her strength shows how entirely it is subject to physical laws. if i had time, i might probe it to the bottom and lay my hands upon its antidote. but you cannot tame the tiger when you are beneath his claws. you can but try to writhe away from him. ah, when i look in the glass and see my own dark eyes and clear-cut spanish face, i long for a vitriol splash or a bout of the small-pox. one or the other might have saved me from this calamity.
i am inclined to think that i may have trouble to-night. there are two things which make me fear so. one is that i met mrs. wilson in the street, and that she tells me that miss penclosa is better, though still weak. i find myself wishing in my heart that the illness had been her last. the other is that professor wilson comes back in a day or two, and his presence would act as a constraint upon her. i should not fear our interviews if a third person were present. for both these reasons i have a presentiment of trouble to-night, and i shall take the same precautions as before.
april 10. no, thank god, all went well last night. i really could not face the gardener again. i locked my door and thrust the key underneath it, so that i had to ask the maid to let me out in the morning. but the precaution was really not needed, for i never had any inclination to go out at all. three evenings in succession at home! i am surely near the end of my troubles, for wilson will be home again either today or tomorrow. shall i tell him of what i have gone through or not? i am convinced that i should not have the slightest sympathy from him. he would look upon me as an interesting case, and read a paper about me at the next meeting of the psychical society, in which he would gravely discuss the possibility of my being a deliberate liar, and weigh it against the chances of my being in an early stage of lunacy. no, i shall get no comfort out of wilson.
i am feeling wonderfully fit and well. i don’t think i ever lectured with greater spirit. oh, if i could only get this shadow off my life, how happy i should be! young, fairly wealthy, in the front rank of my profession, engaged to a beautiful and charming girl—have i not every thing which a man could ask for? only one thing to trouble me, but what a thing it is!
midnight. i shall go mad. yes, that will be the end of it. i shall go mad. i am not far from it now. my head throbs as i rest it on my hot hand. i am quivering all over like a scared horse. oh, what a night i have had! and yet i have some cause to be satisfied also.
at the risk of becoming the laughing-stock of my own servant, i again slipped 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 and began to read one of dumas’s novels. suddenly i was gripped—gripped and dragged from the couch. it is only thus that i can describe the overpowering nature of the force which pounced upon me. i clawed at the coverlet. i clung to the wood-work. i believe that i screamed out in my frenzy. it was all useless, hopeless. i must go. there was no way out of it. it was only at the outset that i resisted. the force soon became too overmastering for that. i thank goodness that there were no watchers there to interfere with me. i could not have answered for myself if there had been. and, besides the determination to get out, there came to me, also, the keenest and coolest judgment in choosing my means. i lit a candle and endeavored, kneeling in front of the 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 quiet persistence i got a paper-knife out of one of the drawers, and with that i managed to draw the key back. i opened the door, stepped into my study, took a photograph of myself from the bureau, wrote something across it, placed it in the inside pocket of my coat, and then started off for wilson’s.
it was all wonderfully clear, and yet disassociated from the rest of my life, as the incidents of even the most vivid dream might be. a peculiar double consciousness possessed me. there was the predominant alien will, which was bent upon drawing me to the side of its owner, and there was the feebler protesting personality, which i recognized as being myself, tugging feebly at the overmastering impulse as a led terrier might at its chain. i can remember recognizing these two conflicting forces, but i recall nothing of my walk, nor of how i was admitted 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 our experiments had usually been carried out. her head was rested on her hand, and a tiger-skin rug had been partly drawn over her. she looked up 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 under her eyes. she smiled at me, and pointed to a stool beside her. it was with her left hand that she pointed, and i, running eagerly forward, seized it,—i loathe myself as i think of it,—and pressed it passionately to my lips. then, seating myself upon the stool, and still retaining her hand, i gave her the photograph which i had brought with me, and talked and talked and talked—of my love for her, of my grief over her illness, of my joy at her recovery, of the misery it was to me to be absent a single evening from her side. she lay quietly looking down at me with imperious eyes and her provocative smile. once i 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 her slave, 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 a providence! i was on the brink of perdition. my feet were on the edge. 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 with her 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, and the lids drooped heavily over them. above all, the look of serene confidence had gone from her features. her mouth had weakened. her forehead had puckered. she was frightened and undecided. and as i watched the change my own spirit fluttered and struggled, trying hard to tear itself from the grip which held it—a grip which, from moment to moment, grew less secure.
“austin,” she whispered, “i have tried to do too much. i was not strong enough. i have not recovered yet from my illness. but i could not live longer without seeing you. you won’t leave me, austin? this is only a passing weakness. if you will only give me five minutes, i shall be myself again. give me the small decanter from the table in the window.”
but i had regained my soul. with her waning strength the influence had cleared away from me and left me free. and i was aggressive—bitterly, fiercely aggressive. for once at least i could make this woman understand what my real feelings toward her were. my soul was filled with a hatred as bestial as the love against which it was a reaction. it was the savage, murderous passion of the revolted serf. i could have 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 me into 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 the window. then i snatched the photograph from her hand and tore it into a hundred pieces.
“you vile woman,” i said, “if i did my duty to society, you would never leave this room alive!”
“i love you, austin; i love you!” she wailed.
“yes,” i cried, “and charles sadler before. and how many others before that?”
“charles sadler!” she gasped. “he has spoken to you? so, charles sadler, charles sadler!” her voice came through her white lips like a snake’s hiss.
“yes, i know you, and others shall know you, too. you shameless creature! you knew how i stood. and yet you used your vile power to bring me to your side. you may, perhaps, do so again, but at least you will remember that you have heard me say that i love miss marden from the 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 horror and disgust. the thought of you is repulsive. that is how i feel toward you, and if it pleases you by your tricks to draw me again to your 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 has told you his real opinion of you. you may put what words you will into my 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 of satisfaction it gives me to think that, come what may, in the future she can never misunderstand my true feelings toward her. but what will occur 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 i think of what i said to her—— never mind; i have been stronger than she for once.
april 11. i hardly slept last night, and found myself in the morning so unstrung and feverish that i was compelled to ask pratt-haldane to do my lecture for me. it is the first that i have ever missed. i rose at mid-day, but my head is aching, my hands quivering, and my nerves in a pitiable state.
who should come round this evening but wilson. he has just come back from london, where he has lectured, read papers, convened meetings, exposed a medium, conducted a series of experiments on thought transference, entertained professor richet of paris, spent hours gazing into a crystal, and obtained some evidence as to the passage of matter through matter. all this he poured into my ears in a single gust.
“but you!” he cried at last. “you are not looking well. and miss penclosa 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 for saying that it is a dangerous one? please give your facts in chronological order, with approximate dates and names of reliable witnesses with their permanent addresses.”
“first of all,” i asked, “would you tell me whether you have collected any cases where the mesmerist has gained a command over the subject and has 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 a person at a distance—an uncontrollable impulse.”
“obsession!” he shrieked, in an ecstasy of delight. “it is the rarest condition. we have eight cases, five well attested. you don’t mean to say——” his exultation made him hardly articulate.
“no, i don’t,” said i. “good-evening! you will excuse me, but i am not very well to-night.” and so at last i got rid of him, still brandishing his pencil and his note-book. my troubles may be bad to hear, but at least it is better to hug them to myself than to have myself exhibited by wilson, like a freak at a fair. he has lost sight of human beings. every thing to him is a case and a phenomenon. i will die before i speak to him again upon the matter.
april 12. yesterday was a blessed day of quiet, and i enjoyed an uneventful night. wilson’s presence is a great consolation. what can the woman do now? surely, when she has heard me say what i have said, she will conceive the same disgust for me which i have for her. she could not, no, she could not, desire to have a lover who had insulted her so. no, i believe i am free from her love—but how about her hate? might she not use these powers of hers for revenge? tut! why should i frighten myself over shadows? she will forget about me, and i shall forget about her, and all will be well.
april 13. my nerves have quite recovered their tone. i really believe that i have conquered the creature. but i must confess to living in some suspense. she is well again, for i hear that she was driving with mrs. wilson in the high street in the afternoon.
april 14. i do wish i could get away from the place altogether. i shall fly to agatha’s side the very day that the term closes. i suppose it is pitiably weak of me, but this woman gets upon my nerves most terribly. i have seen her again, and i have spoken with her.
it was just after lunch, and i was smoking a cigarette in my study, when i heard the step of my servant murray in the passage. i was languidly conscious that a second step was audible behind, and had hardly troubled myself to speculate who it might be, when suddenly a slight noise brought me out of my chair with my skin creeping with apprehension. i had never particularly observed before what sort of sound the tapping of a crutch was, but my quivering nerves told me that i heard it now in the sharp wooden clack which alternated with the muffled thud of the foot fall. another instant and my servant had shown her in.
i did not attempt the usual conventions of society, nor did she. i simply stood with the smouldering cigarette in my hand, and gazed at her. she in her turn looked silently at me, and at her look i remembered how in these very pages i had tried to define the expression of her eyes, whether they were furtive or fierce. to-day they were fierce—coldly and inexorably so.
“well,” said she at last, “are you still of the same mind as when i saw you last?”
“i have always been of the same mind.”
“let us understand each other, professor gilroy,” said she slowly. “i am not a very safe person to trifle with, as you should realize by now. it was you who asked me to enter into a series of experiments with you, it was you who won my affections, it was you who professed your love for me, it was you who brought me your own photograph with words of affection upon it, and, finally, it was you who on the very same evening thought fit to insult me most outrageously, addressing me as no man has ever dared to speak to me yet. tell me that those words came from you in a moment of passion and i am prepared to forget and to forgive them. you did not mean what you said, austin? you do not really hate me?”
i might have pitied this deformed woman—such a longing for love broke suddenly through the menace of her eyes. but then i thought of what i had gone through, and my heart set like flint.
“if ever you heard me speak of love,” said i, “you know very well that it was your voice which spoke, and not mine. the only words of truth which i have ever been able to say to you are those which you heard when last we met.”
“i know. some one has set you against me. it was he!” she tapped with her crutch upon the floor. “well, you know very well that i could bring you this instant crouching like a spaniel to my feet. you will not find me again in my hour of weakness, when you can insult me with impunity. have a care what you are doing, professor gilroy. you stand in a terrible position. you have not yet realized the hold which i have upon you.”
i shrugged my shoulders and turned away.
“well,” said she, after a pause, “if you despise my love, i must see what can be done with fear. you smile, but the day will come when you will come screaming to me for pardon. yes, you will grovel on the ground before me, proud as you are, and you will curse the day that ever you turned me from your best friend into your most bitter enemy. have a care, professor gilroy!” i saw a white hand shaking in the air, and a face which was scarcely human, so convulsed was it with passion. an instant later she was gone, and i heard the quick hobble and tap receding down the passage.
but she has left a weight upon my heart. vague presentiments of coming misfortune lie heavy upon me. i try in vain to persuade myself that these are only words of empty anger. i can remember those relentless eyes too clearly to think so. what shall i do—ah, what shall i do? i am no longer master of my own soul. at any moment this loathsome parasite may creep into me, and then—— i must tell some one my hideous secret—i must tell it or go mad. if i had some one to sympathize and advise! wilson is out of the question. charles sadler would understand me only so far as his own experience carries him. pratt-haldane! he is a well-balanced man, a man of great common-sense and resource. i will go to him. i will tell him every thing. god grant that he may be able to advise me!
