The Parasite / Arthur Conan Doyle

I

March 24. The spring is fairly with us now. Outside

my laboratory window the great chestnut-tree is all

covered with the big, glutinous, gummy buds, some of

which have already begun to break into little green

shuttlecocks. As you walk down the lanes you are

conscious of the rich, silent forces of nature working

all around you. The wet earth smells fruitful and

luscious. Green shoots are peeping out everywhere. 

The twigs are stiff with their sap; and the moist,

heavy English air is laden with a faintly resinous

perfume. Buds in the hedges, lambs beneath them--

everywhere the work of reproduction going forward!

I can see it without, and I can feel it within. We

also have our spring when the little arterioles dilate,

the lymph flows in a brisker stream, the glands work

harder, winnowing and straining. Every year nature

readjusts the whole machine. I can feel the ferment in

my blood at this very moment, and as the cool sunshine

pours through my window I could dance about in it

like a gnat. So I should, only that Charles Sadler

would rush upstairs to know what was the matter. 

Besides, I must remember that I am Professor Gilroy. 

An old professor may afford to be natural, but when

fortune has given one of the first chairs in the

university to a man of four-and-thirty he must try and

act the part consistently.

What a fellow Wilson is! If I could only throw the

same enthusiasm into physiology that he does into

psychology, I should become a Claude Bernard at the

least. His whole life and soul and energy work to one

end. He drops to sleep collating his results of the

past day, and he wakes to plan his researches for the

coming one. And yet, outside the narrow circle who

follow his proceedings, he gets so little credit for

it. Physiology is a recognized science. If I add even

a brick to the edifice, every one sees and applauds it. 

But Wilson is trying to dig the foundations for a

science of the future. His work is underground and

does not show. Yet he goes on uncomplainingly,

corresponding with a hundred semi-maniacs in the hope

of finding one reliable witness, sifting a hundred lies

on the chance of gaining one little speck of truth,

collating old books, devouring new ones, experimenting,

lecturing, trying to light up in others the fiery

interest which is consuming him. I am filled with

wonder and admiration when I think of him, and yet,

when he asks me to associate myself with his

researches, I am compelled to tell him that, in their

present state, they offer little attraction to a man

who is devoted to exact science. If he could show me

something positive and objective, I might then be

tempted to approach the question from its physiological

side. So long as half his subjects are tainted

with charlatanerie and the other half with hysteria we

physiologists must content ourselves with the body and

leave the mind to our descendants.

No doubt I am a materialist. Agatha says that I am a

rank one. I tell her that is an excellent reason for

shortening our engagement, since I am in such urgent

need of her spirituality. And yet I may claim to be a

curious example of the effect of education upon

temperament, for by nature I am, unless I deceive

myself, a highly psychic man. I was a nervous,

sensitive boy, a dreamer, a somnambulist, full of

impressions and intuitions. My black hair, my dark

eyes, my thin, olive face, my tapering fingers, are all

characteristic of my real temperament, and cause

experts like Wilson to claim me as their own. But my

brain is soaked with exact knowledge. I have trained

myself to deal only with fact and with proof. Surmise

and fancy have no place in my scheme of thought. Show

me what I can see with my microscope, cut with my

scalpel, weigh in my balance, and I will devote a

lifetime to its investigation. But when you ask me to

study feelings, impressions, suggestions, you ask me to

do what is distasteful and even demoralizing. A

departure from pure reason affects me like an evil

smell or a musical discord.

Which is a very sufficient reason why I am a little

loath to go to Professor Wilson's tonight. Still I

feel that I could hardly get out of the invitation

without positive rudeness; and, now that Mrs. Marden

and Agatha are going, of course I would not if I could. 

But I had rather meet them anywhere else. I know that

Wilson would draw me into this nebulous semi-science of

his if he could. In his enthusiasm he is perfectly

impervious to hints or remonstrances. Nothing short of

a positive quarrel will make him realize my aversion to

the whole business. I have no doubt that he has some

new mesmerist or clairvoyant or medium or trickster of

some sort whom he is going to exhibit to us, for even

his entertainments bear upon his hobby. Well, it will

be a treat for Agatha, at any rate. She is interested

in it, as woman usually is in whatever is vague and

mystical and indefinite.

10.50 P. M. This diary-keeping of mine is, I fancy,

the outcome of that scientific habit of mind about

which I wrote this morning. I like to register

impressions while they are fresh. Once a day at least

I endeavor to define my own mental position. It is a

useful piece of self-analysis, and has, I fancy, a

steadying effect upon the character. Frankly, I must

confess that my own needs what stiffening I can give

it. I fear that, after all, much of my neurotic

temperament survives, and that I am far from that cool,

calm precision which characterizes Murdoch or Pratt-

Haldane. Otherwise, why should the tomfoolery which I

have witnessed this evening have set my nerves

thrilling so that even now I am all unstrung? My only

comfort is that neither Wilson nor Miss Penclosa nor

even Agatha could have possibly known my weakness.

And what in the world was there to excite me? Nothing,

or so little that it will seem ludicrous when I set it

down.

The Mardens got to Wilson's before me. In fact, I was

one of the last to arrive and found the room crowded. 

I had hardly time to say a word to Mrs. Marden and to

Agatha, who was looking charming in white and pink,

with glittering wheat-ears in her hair, when Wilson

came twitching at my sleeve.

"You want something positive, Gilroy," said he, drawing

me apart into a corner. "My dear fellow, I have a

phenomenon--a phenomenon!"

I should have been more impressed had I not heard the

same before. His sanguine spirit turns every fire-fly

into a star.

"No possible question about the bona fides this time,"

said he, in answer, perhaps, to some little gleam of

amusement in my eyes. "My wife has known her for many

years. They both come from Trinidad, you know. Miss

Penclosa has only been in England a month or two, and

knows no one outside the university circle, but I

assure you that the things she has told us suffice in

themselves to establish clairvoyance upon an absolutely

scientific basis. There is nothing like her, amateur

or professional. Come and be introduced!"

I like none of these mystery-mongers, but the amateur

least of all. With the paid performer you may pounce

upon him and expose him the instant that you have seen

through his trick. He is there to deceive you, and you

are there to find him out. But what are you to do with

the friend of your host's wife? Are you to turn on a

light suddenly and expose her slapping a surreptitious

banjo? Or are you to hurl cochineal over her evening

frock when she steals round with her phosphorus bottle

and her supernatural platitude? There would be a

scene, and you would be looked upon as a brute. So you

have your choice of being that or a dupe. I was in no

very good humor as I followed Wilson to the lady.

Any one less like my idea of a West Indian could not be

imagined. She was a small, frail creature, well over

forty, I should say, with a pale, peaky face, and hair

of a very light shade of chestnut. Her presence was

insignificant and her manner retiring. In any group of

ten women she would have been the last whom one would

have picked out. Her eyes were perhaps her most

remarkable, and also, I am compelled to say, her least

pleasant, feature. They were gray in color,--gray with

a shade of green,--and their expression struck me as

being decidedly furtive. I wonder if furtive is the

word, or should I have said fierce? On second

thoughts, feline would have expressed it better. A

crutch leaning against the wall told me what was

painfully evident when she rose: that one of her legs

was crippled.

So I was introduced to Miss Penclosa, and it did not

escape me that as my name was mentioned she glanced

across at Agatha. Wilson had evidently been talking. 

And presently, no doubt, thought I, she will inform me

by occult means that I am engaged to a young lady with

wheat-ears in her hair. I wondered how much more

Wilson had been telling her about me.

"Professor Gilroy is a terrible sceptic," said he; "I

hope, Miss Penclosa, that you will be able to convert

him."

She looked keenly up at me.

"Professor Gilroy is quite right to be sceptical if he

has not seen any thing convincing," said she. "I

should have thought," she added, "that you would

yourself have been an excellent subject."

"For what, may I ask?" said I.

"Well, for mesmerism, for example."

"My experience has been that mesmerists go for their

subjects to those who are mentally unsound. All their

results are vitiated, as it seems to me, by the fact

that they are dealing with abnormal organisms."

"Which of these ladies would you say possessed a normal

organism?" she asked. "I should like you to select the

one who seems to you to have the best balanced mind. 

Should we say the girl in pink and white?--Miss Agatha

Marden, I think the name is."

"Yes, I should attach weight to any results from her."

"I have never tried how far she is impressionable. Of

course some people respond much more rapidly than

others. May I ask how far your scepticism extends? I

suppose that you admit the mesmeric sleep and the power

of suggestion."

"I admit nothing, Miss Penclosa."

"Dear me, I thought science had got further than that. 

Of course I know nothing about the scientific side of

it. I only know what I can do. You see the girl in

red, for example, over near the Japanese jar. I shall

will that she come across to us."

She bent forward as she spoke and dropped her fan upon

the floor. The girl whisked round and came straight

toward us, with an enquiring look upon her face, as if

some one had called her.

"What do you think of that, Gilroy?" cried Wilson, in a

kind of ecstasy.

I did not dare to tell him what I thought of it. To me

it was the most barefaced, shameless piece of imposture

that I had ever witnessed. The collusion and the

signal had really been too obvious.

"Professor Gilroy is not satisfied," said she, glancing

up at me with her strange little eyes. "My poor fan is

to get the credit of that experiment. Well, we must

try something else. Miss Marden, would you have any

objection to my putting you off?"

"Oh, I should love it!" cried Agatha.

By this time all the company had gathered round us in a

circle, the shirt-fronted men, and the white-throated

women, some awed, some critical, as though it were

something between a religious ceremony and a conjurer's

entertainment. A red velvet arm-chair had been pushed

into the centre, and Agatha lay back in it, a little

flushed and trembling slightly from excitement. I

could see it from the vibration of the wheat-ears. 

Miss Penclosa rose from her seat and stood over her,

leaning upon her crutch.

And there was a change in the woman. She no longer

seemed small or insignificant. Twenty years were gone

from her age. Her eyes were shining, a tinge of color

had come into her sallow cheeks, her whole figure had

expanded. So I have seen a dull-eyed, listless lad

change in an instant into briskness and life when given

a task of which he felt himself master. She looked

down at Agatha with an expression which I resented from

the bottom of my soul--the expression with which a

Roman empress might have looked at her kneeling slave. 

Then with a quick, commanding gesture she tossed up her

arms and swept them slowly down in front of her.

I was watching Agatha narrowly. During three passes

she seemed to be simply amused. At the fourth I

observed a slight glazing of her eyes, accompanied by

some dilation of her pupils. At the sixth there was a

momentary rigor. At the seventh her lids began to

droop. At the tenth her eyes were closed, and her

breathing was slower and fuller than usual. I tried as

I watched to preserve my scientific calm, but a

foolish, causeless agitation convulsed me. I trust

that I hid it, but I felt as a child feels in the dark. 

I could not have believed that I was still open to such

weakness.

"She is in the trance," said Miss Penclosa.

"She is sleeping!" I cried.

"Wake her, then!"

I pulled her by the arm and shouted in her ear. She

might have been dead for all the impression that I

could make. Her body was there on the velvet chair. 

Her organs were acting--her heart, her lungs. But her

soul! It had slipped from beyond our ken. Whither had

it gone? What power had dispossessed it? I was

puzzled and disconcerted.

"So much for the mesmeric sleep," said Miss Penclosa. 

"As regards suggestion, whatever I may suggest Miss

Marden will infallibly do, whether it be now or after

she has awakened from her trance. Do you demand proof

of it?"

"Certainly," said I.

"You shall have it." I saw a smile pass over her face,

as though an amusing thought had struck her. She

stooped and whispered earnestly into her subject's ear. 

Agatha, who had been so deaf to me, nodded her head as

she listened.

"Awake!" cried Miss Penclosa, with a sharp tap of her

crutch upon the floor. The eyes opened, the glazing

cleared slowly away, and the soul looked out once more

after its strange eclipse.

We went away early. Agatha was none the worse for her

strange excursion, but I was nervous and unstrung,

unable to listen to or answer the stream of comments

which Wilson was pouring out for my benefit. As I bade

her good-night Miss Penclosa slipped a piece of paper

into my hand.

"Pray forgive me," said she, "if I take means to

overcome your scepticism. Open this note at ten

o'clock to-morrow morning. It is a little private

test."

I can't imagine what she means, but there is the note,

and it shall be opened as she directs. My head is

aching, and I have written enough for to-night. To-

morrow I dare say that what seems so inexplicable will

take quite another complexion. I shall not surrender

my convictions without a struggle.

March 25. I am amazed, confounded. It is clear that I

must reconsider my opinion upon this matter. But first

let me place on record what has occurred.

I had finished breakfast, and was looking over some

diagrams with which my lecture is to be illustrated,

when my housekeeper entered to tell me that Agatha was

in my study and wished to see me immediately. I

glanced at the clock and saw with sun rise that it was only

half-past nine.

When I entered the room, she was standing on the

hearth-rug facing me. Something in her pose chilled me

and checked the words which were rising to my lips. 

Her veil was half down, but I could see that she was

pale and that her expression was constrained.

"Austin," she said, "I have come to tell you that our

engagement is at an end."

I staggered. I believe that I literally did stagger. 

I know that I found myself leaning against the bookcase

for support.

"But--but----" I stammered. "This is very sudden,

Agatha."

"Yes, Austin, I have come here to tell you that our

engagement is at an end."

"But surely," I cried, "you will give me some reason! 

This is unlike you, Agatha. Tell me how I have been

unfortunate enough to offend you."

"It is all over, Austin."

"But why? You must be under some delusion, Agatha. 

Perhaps you have been told some falsehood about me. Or

you may have misunderstood something that I have said

to you. Only let me know what it is, and a word may

set it all right."

"We must consider it all at an end."

"But you left me last night without a hint at any

disagreement. What could have occurred in the interval

to change you so? It must have been something that

happened last night. You have been thinking it over

and you have disapproved of my conduct. Was it the

mesmerism? Did you blame me for letting that woman

exercise her power over you? You know that at the

least sign I should have interfered."

"It is useless, Austin. All is over:"

Her voice was cold and measured; her manner strangely

formal and hard. It seemed to me that she was

absolutely resolved not to be drawn into any argument

or explanation. As for me, I was shaking with

agitation, and I turned my face aside, so ashamed was I

that she should see my want of control.

"You must know what this means to me!" I cried. "It is

the blasting of all my hopes and the ruin of my life! 

You surely will not inflict such a punishment upon me

unheard. You will let me know what is the matter. 

Consider how impossible it would be for me, under any

circumstances, to treat you so. For God's sake,

Agatha, let me know what I have done!"

She walked past me without a word and opened the door.

"It is quite useless, Austin," said she. "You must

consider our engagement at an end." An instant later

she was gone, and, before I could recover myself

sufficiently to follow her, I heard the hall-door close

behind her.

I rushed into my room to change my coat, with the idea

of hurrying round to Mrs. Marden's to learn from her

what the cause of my misfortune might be. So shaken

was I that I could hardly lace my boots. Never shall I

forget those horrible ten minutes. I had just pulled

on my overcoat when the clock upon the mantel-piece

struck ten.

Ten! I associated the idea with Miss Penclosa's note. 

It was lying before me on the table, and I tore it

open. It was scribbled in pencil in a peculiarly

angular handwriting.

"MY DEAR PROFESSOR GILROY [it said]: Pray excuse the

personal nature of the test which I am giving you. 

Professor Wilson happened to mention the relations

between you and my subject of this evening, and it

struck me that nothing could be more convincing to you

than if I were to suggest to Miss Marden that she

should call upon you at half-past nine to-morrow

morning and suspend your engagement for half an hour or

so. Science is so exacting that it is difficult to

give a satisfying test, but I am convinced that this at

least will be an action which she would be most

unlikely to do of her own free will. Forget any thing

that she may have said, as she has really nothing

whatever to do with it, and will certainly not

recollect any thing about it. I write this note to

shorten your anxiety, and to beg you to forgive me for

the momentary unhappiness which my suggestion must have

caused you.

"Yours faithfully;

"HELEN PENCLOSA.

Really, when I had read the note, I was too relieved to

be angry. It was a liberty. Certainly it was a very

great liberty indeed on the part of a lady whom I had

only met once. But, after all, I had challenged her by

my scepticism. It may have been, as she said, a little

difficult to devise a test which would satisfy me.

And she had done that. There could be no question at

all upon the point. For me hypnotic suggestion was

finally established. It took its place from now onward

as one of the facts of life. That Agatha, who of all

women of my acquaintance has the best balanced mind,

had been reduced to a condition of automatism appeared

to be certain. A person at a distance had worked her

as an engineer on the shore might guide a Brennan

torpedo. A second soul had stepped in, as it were, had

pushed her own aside, and had seized her nervous

mechanism, saying: "I will work this for half an

hour." And Agatha must have been unconscious as she

came and as she returned. Could she make her way in

safety through the streets in such a state? I put on

my hat and hurried round to see if all was well with

her.

Yes. She was at home. I was shown into the drawing-

room and found her sitting with a book upon her lap.

"You are an early visitor, Austin," said she, smiling.

"And you have been an even earlier one," I answered.

She looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"You have not been out to-day?"

"No, certainly not."

"Agatha," said I seriously, "would you mind telling me

exactly what you have done this morning?"

She laughed at my earnestness.

"You've got on your professional look, Austin. See

what comes of being engaged to a man of science. 

However, I will tell you, though I can't imagine what

you want to know for. I got up at eight. I

breakfasted at half-past. I came into this room at ten

minutes past nine and began to read the `Memoirs of

Mme. de Remusat.' In a few minutes I did the French

lady the bad compliment of dropping to sleep over her

pages, and I did you, sir, the very flattering one of

dreaming about you. It is only a few minutes since I

woke up."

"And found yourself where you had been before?"

"Why, where else should I find myself?"

"Would you mind telling me, Agatha, what it was that

you dreamed about me? It really is not mere curiosity

on my part."

"I merely had a vague impression that you came into it. 

I cannot recall any thing definite."

"If you have not been out to-day, Agatha, how is it

that your shoes are dusty?"

A pained look came over her face.

"Really, Austin, I do not know what is the matter with

you this morning. One would almost think that you

doubted my word. If my boots are dusty, it must be, of

course, that I have put on a pair which the maid had

not cleaned."

It was perfectly evident that she knew nothing whatever

about the matter, and I reflected that, after all,

perhaps it was better that I should not enlighten her. 

It might frighten her, and could serve no good purpose

that I could see. I said no more about it, therefore,

and left shortly afterward to give my lecture.

But I am immensely impressed. My horizon of scientific

possibilities has suddenly been enormously extended. I

no longer wonder at Wilson's demonic energy and

enthusiasm. Who would not work hard who had a vast

virgin field ready to his hand? Why, I have known the

novel shape of a nucleolus, or a trifling peculiarity

of striped muscular fibre seen under a 300-diameter

lens, fill me with exultation. How petty do such

researches seem when compared with this one which

strikes at the very roots of life and the nature of the

soul! I had always looked upon spirit as a product of

matter. The brain, I thought, secreted the mind, as

the liver does the bile. But how can this be when I

see mind working from a distance and playing upon

matter as a musician might upon a violin? The body

does not give rise to the soul, then, but is rather the

rough instrument by which the spirit manifests itself. 

The windmill does not give rise to the wind, but only

indicates it. It was opposed to my whole habit of

thought, and yet it was undeniably possible and worthy

of investigation.

And why should I not investigate it? I see that under

yesterday's date I said: "If I could see something

positive and objective, I might be tempted to approach

it from the physiological aspect." Well, I have got my

test. I shall be as good as my word. The

investigation would, I am sure, be of immense interest. 

Some of my colleagues might look askance at it, for

science is full of unreasoning prejudices, but if

Wilson has the courage of his convictions, I can afford

to have it also. I shall go to him to-morrow morning--

to him and to Miss Penclosa. If she can show us so

much, it is probable that she can show us more.

II

March 26. Wilson was, as I had anticipated, very

exultant over my conversion, and Miss Penclosa was also

demurely pleased at the result of her experiment. 

Strange what a silent, colorless creature she is save

only when she exercises her power! Even talking about

it gives her color and life. She seems to take a

singular interest in me. I cannot help observing how

her eyes follow me about the room.

We had the most interesting conversation about her own

powers. It is just as well to put her views on record,

though they cannot, of course, claim any scientific

weight.

"You are on the very fringe of the subject," said she,

when I had expressed wonder at the remarkable instance

of suggestion which she had shown me. "I had no direct

influence upon Miss Marden when she came round to you. 

I was not even thinking of her that morning. What I

did was to set her mind as I might set the alarum of a

clock so that at the hour named it would go off of its

own accord. If six months instead of twelve hours had

been suggested, it would have been the same."

"And if the suggestion had been to assassinate me?"

"She would most inevitably have done so."

"But this is a terrible power!" I cried.

"It is, as you say, a terrible power," she answered

gravely, "and the more you know of it the more terrible

will it seem to you."

"May I ask," said I, "what you meant when you said that

this matter of suggestion is only at the fringe of it? 

What do you consider the essential?"

"I had rather not tell you."

I was surprised at the decision of her answer.

"You understand," said I, "that it is not out of

curiosity I ask, but in the hope that I may find some

scientific explanation for the facts with which you

furnish me."

"Frankly, Professor Gilroy," said she, "I am not at all

interested in science, nor do I care whether it can or

cannot classify these powers."

"But I was hoping----"

"Ah, that is quite another thing. If you make it a

personal matter," said she, with the pleasantest of

smiles, "I shall be only too happy to tell you any

thing you wish to know. Let me see; what was it you

asked me? Oh, about the further powers. Professor

Wilson won't believe in them, but they are quite true

all the same. For example, it is possible for an

operator to gain complete command over his subject--

presuming that the latter is a good one. Without any

previous suggestion he may make him do whatever he

likes."

"Without the subject's knowledge?"

"That depends. If the force were strongly exerted, he

would know no more about it than Miss Marden did when

she came round and frightened you so. Or, if the

influence was less powerful, he might be conscious of

what he was doing, but be quite unable to prevent

himself from doing it."

"Would he have lost his own will power, then?"

"It would be over-ridden by another stronger one."

"Have you ever exercised this power yourself?"

"Several times."

"Is your own will so strong, then?"

"Well, it does not entirely depend upon that. Many

have strong wills which are not detachable from

themselves. The thing is to have the gift of

projecting it into another person and superseding his

own. I find that the power varies with my own strength

and health."

"Practically, you send your soul into another person's

body."

"Well, you might put it that way."

"And what does your own body do?"

"It merely feels lethargic."

"Well, but is there no danger to your own health?" I

asked.

"There might be a little. You have to be careful never

to let your own consciousness absolutely go; otherwise,

you might experience some difficulty in finding your

way back again. You must always preserve the

connection, as it were. I am afraid I express myself

very badly, Professor Gilroy, but of course I don't

know how to put these things in a scientific way. I am

just giving you my own experiences and my own

explanations."

Well, I read this over now at my leisure, and I marvel

at myself! Is this Austin Gilroy, the man who has won

his way to the front by his hard reasoning power and by

his devotion to fact? Here I am gravely retailing the

gossip of a woman who tells me how her soul may be

projected from her body, and how, while she lies in a

lethargy, she can control the actions of people at a

distance. Do I accept it? Certainly not. She must

prove and re-prove before I yield a point. But if I am

still a sceptic, I have at least ceased to be a

scoffer. We are to have a sitting this evening, and

she is to try if she can produce any mesmeric effect

upon me. If she can, it will make an excellent

starting-point for our investigation. No one can

accuse me, at any rate, of complicity. If she cannot,

we must try and find some subject who will be like

Caesar's wife. Wilson is perfectly impervious.

10 P. M. I believe that I am on the threshold of an

epoch-making investigation. To have the power of

examining these phenomena from inside--to have an

organism which will respond, and at the same time a

brain which will appreciate and criticise--that is

surely a unique advantage. I am quite sure that Wilson

would give five years of his life to be as susceptible

as I have proved myself to be.

There was no one present except Wilson and his wife. I

was seated with my head leaning back, and Miss

Penclosa, standing in front and a little to the left,

used the same long, sweeping strokes as with Agatha. 

At each of them a warm current of air seemed to strike

me, and to suffuse a thrill and glow all through me

from head to foot. My eyes were fixed upon Miss

Penclosa's face, but as I gazed the features seemed to

blur and to fade away. I was conscious only of her own

eyes looking down at me, gray, deep, inscrutable. 

Larger they grew and larger, until they changed

suddenly into two mountain lakes toward which I seemed

to be falling with horrible rapidity. I shuddered, and

as I did so some deeper stratum of thought told me that

the shudder represented the rigor which I had observed

in Agatha. An instant later I struck the surface of

the lakes, now joined into one, and down I went beneath

the water with a fulness in my head and a buzzing in my

ears. Down I went, down, down, and then with a swoop

up again until I could see the light streaming brightly

through the green water. I was almost at the surface

when the word "Awake!" rang through my head, and, with

a start, I found myself back in the arm-chair, with

Miss Penclosa leaning on her crutch, and Wilson, his

note book in his hand, peeping over her shoulder. No

heaviness or weariness was left behind. On the

contrary, though it is only an hour or so since the

experiment, I feel so wakeful that I am more inclined

for my study than my bedroom. I see quite a vista of

interesting experiments extending before us, and am all

impatience to begin upon them.

March 27. A blank day, as Miss Penclosa goes with

Wilson and his wife to the Suttons'. Have begun Binet

and Ferre's "Animal Magnetism." What strange, deep

waters these are! Results, results, results--and the

cause an absolute mystery. It is stimulating to the

imagination, but I must be on my guard against that. 

Let us have no inferences nor deductions, and nothing

but solid facts. I KNOW that the mesmeric trance is

true; I KNOW that mesmeric suggestion is true; I KNOW

that I am myself sensitive to this force. That is my

present position. I have a large new note-book which

shall be devoted entirely to scientific detail.

Long talk with Agatha and Mrs. Marden in the evening

about our marriage. We think that the summer vac. 

(the beginning of it) would be the best time for the

wedding. Why should we delay? I grudge even those few

months. Still, as Mrs. Marden says, there are a good

many things to be arranged.

March 28. Mesmerized again by Miss Penclosa. 

Experience much the same as before, save that

insensibility came on more quickly. See Note-book A

for temperature of room, barometric pressure, pulse,

and respiration as taken by Professor Wilson.

March 29. Mesmerized again. Details in Note-book A.

March 30. Sunday, and a blank day. I grudge any

interruption of our experiments. At present they

merely embrace the physical signs which go with slight,

with complete, and with extreme insensibility. 

Afterward we hope to pass on to the phenomena of

suggestion and of lucidity. Professors have

demonstrated these things upon women at Nancy and at

the Salpetriere. It will be more convincing when a

woman demonstrates it upon a professor, with a second

professor as a witness. And that I should be the

subject--I, the sceptic, the materialist! At least, I

have shown that my devotion to science is greater than

to my own personal consistency. The eating of our own

words is the greatest sacrifice which truth ever

requires of us.

My neighbor, Charles Sadler, the handsome young

demonstrator of anatomy, came in this evening to return

a volume of Virchow's "Archives" which I had lent him. 

I call him young, but, as a matter of fact, he is a

year older than I am.

"I understand, Gilroy," said he, "that you are being

experimented upon by Miss Penclosa."

"Well," he went on, when I had acknowledged it, "if I

were you, I should not let it go any further. You will

think me very impertinent, no doubt, but, none the

less, I feel it to be my duty to advise you to have no

more to do with her."

Of course I asked him why.

"I am so placed that I cannot enter into particulars as

freely as I could wish," said he. "Miss Penclosa is

the friend of my friend, and my position is a delicate

one. I can only say this: that I have myself been the

subject of some of the woman's experiments, and that

they have left a most unpleasant impression upon my

mind."

He could hardly expect me to be satisfied with that,

and I tried hard to get something more definite out of

him, but without success. Is it conceivable that he

could be jealous at my having superseded him? Or is he

one of those men of science who feel personally injured

when facts run counter to their preconceived opinions? 

He cannot seriously suppose that because he has some

vague grievance I am, therefore, to abandon a series of

experiments which promise to be so fruitful of results. 

He appeared to be annoyed at the light way in which I

treated his shadowy warnings, and we parted with some

little coldness on both sides.

March 31. Mesmerized by Miss P.

April 1. Mesmerized by Miss P. (Note-book A.)

April 2. Mesmerized by Miss P. (Sphygmographic chart

taken by Professor Wilson.)

April 3. It is possible that this course of mesmerism

may be a little trying to the general constitution. 

Agatha says that I am thinner and darker under the

eyes. I am conscious of a nervous irritability which I

had not observed in myself before. The least noise,

for example, makes me start, and the stupidity of a

student causes me exasperation instead of amusement. 

Agatha wishes me to stop, but I tell her that every

course of study is trying, and that one can never

attain a result with out paying some price for it. 

When she sees the sensation which my forthcoming paper

on "The Relation between Mind and Matter" may make, she

will understand that it is worth a little nervous wear

and tear. I should not be surprised if I got my F. R.

S. over it.

Mesmerized again in the evening. The effect is

produced more rapidly now, and the subjective visions

are less marked. I keep full notes of each sitting. 

Wilson is leaving for town for a week or ten days, but

we shall not interrupt the experiments, which depend

for their value as much upon my sensations as on his

observations.

April 4. I must be carefully on my guard. A

complication has crept into our experiments which I had

not reckoned upon. In my eagerness for scientific

facts I have been foolishly blind to the human

relations between Miss Penclosa and myself. I can

write here what I would not breathe to a living soul. 

The unhappy woman appears to have formed an attachment

for me.

I should not say such a thing, even in the privacy of

my own intimate journal, if it had not come to such a

pass that it is impossible to ignore it. For some

time,--that is, for the last week,--there have been

signs which I have brushed aside and refused to think

of. Her brightness when I come, her dejection when I

go, her eagerness that I should come often, the

expression of her eyes, the tone of her voice--I tried

to think that they meant nothing, and were, perhaps,

only her ardent West Indian manner. But last night, as

I awoke from the mesmeric sleep, I put out my hand,

unconsciously, involuntarily, and clasped hers. When I

came fully to myself, we were sitting with them locked,

she looking up at me with an expectant smile. And the

horrible thing was that I felt impelled to say what she

expected me to say. What a false wretch I should have

been! How I should have loathed myself to-day had I

yielded to the temptation of that moment! But, thank

God, I was strong enough to spring up and hurry from

the room. I was rude, I fear, but I could not, no, I

COULD not, trust myself another moment. I, a

gentleman, a man of honor, engaged to one of the

sweetest girls in England--and yet in a moment of

reasonless passion I nearly professed love for this

woman whom I hardly know. She is far older than myself

and a cripple. It is monstrous, odious; and yet the

impulse was so strong that, had I stayed another minute

in her presence, I should have committed myself. What

was it? I have to teach others the workings of our

organism, and what do I know of it myself? Was it the

sudden upcropping of some lower stratum in my nature--a

brutal primitive instinct suddenly asserting itself? I

could almost believe the tales of obsession by evil

spirits, so overmastering was the feeling.

Well, the incident places me in a most unfortunate

position. On the one hand, I am very loath to abandon

a series of experiments which have already gone so far,

and which promise such brilliant results. On the

other, if this unhappy woman has conceived a passion

for me---- But surely even now I must have made some

hideous mistake. She, with her age and her deformity! 

It is impossible. And then she knew about Agatha. She

understood how I was placed. She only smiled out of

amusement, perhaps, when in my dazed state I seized her

hand. It was my half-mesmerized brain which gave it a

meaning, and sprang with such bestial swiftness to meet

it. I wish I could persuade myself that it was indeed

so. On the whole, perhaps, my wisest plan would be to

postpone our other experiments until Wilson's return. 

I have written a note to Miss Penclosa, therefore,

making no allusion to last night, but saying that a

press of work would cause me to interrupt our sittings

for a few days. She has answered, formally enough, to

say that if I should change my mind I should find her

at home at the usual hour.

10 P. M. Well, well, what a thing of straw I am! I am

coming to know myself better of late, and the more I

know the lower I fall in my own estimation. Surely I

was not always so weak as this. At four o'clock I

should have smiled had any one told me that I should go

to Miss Penclosa's to-night, and yet, at eight, I was

at Wilson's door as usual. I don't know how it

occurred. The influence of habit, I suppose. Perhaps

there is a mesmeric craze as there is an opium craze,

and I am a victim to it. I only know that as I worked

in my study I became more and more uneasy. I fidgeted. 

I worried. I could not concentrate my mind upon the

papers in front of me. And then, at last, almost

before I knew what I was doing, I seized my hat and

hurried round to keep my usual appointment.

We had an interesting evening. Mrs. Wilson was present

during most of the time, which prevented the

embarrassment which one at least of us must have felt. 

Miss Penclosa's manner was quite the same as usual, and

she expressed no surprise at my having come in spite of

my note. There was nothing in her bearing to show that

yesterday's incident had made any impression upon her,

and so I am inclined to hope that I overrated it.

April 6 (evening). No, no, no, I did not overrate it. 

I can no longer attempt to conceal from myself that

this woman has conceived a passion for me. It is

monstrous, but it is true. Again, tonight, I awoke

from the mesmeric trance to find my hand in hers, and

to suffer that odious feeling which urges me to throw

away my honor, my career, every thing, for the sake of

this creature who, as I can plainly see when I am away

from her influence, possesses no single charm upon

earth. But when I am near her, I do not feel this. 

She rouses something in me, something evil, something I

had rather not think of. She paralyzes my better

nature, too, at the moment when she stimulates my

worse. Decidedly it is not good for me to be near her.

Last night was worse than before. Instead of flying I

actually sat for some time with my hand in hers talking

over the most intimate subjects with her. We spoke of

Agatha, among other things. What could I have been

dreaming of? Miss Penclosa said that she was

conventional, and I agreed with her. She spoke once or

twice in a disparaging way of her, and I did not

protest. What a creature I have been!

Weak as I have proved myself to be, I am still strong

enough to bring this sort of thing to an end. It shall

not happen again. I have sense enough to fly when I

cannot fight. From this Sunday night onward I shall

never sit with Miss Penclosa again. Never! Let the

experiments go, let the research come to an end; any

thing is better than facing this monstrous temptation

which drags me so low. I have said nothing to Miss

Penclosa, but I shall simply stay away. She can tell

the reason without any words of mine.

April 7. Have stayed away as I said. It is a pity to

ruin such an interesting investigation, but it would be

a greater pity still to ruin my life, and I KNOW that I

cannot trust myself with that woman.

11 P. M. God help me! What is the matter with me? Am

I going mad? Let me try and be calm and reason with

myself. First of all I shall set down exactly what

occurred.

It was nearly eight when I wrote the lines with which

this day begins. Feeling strangely restless and uneasy,

I left my rooms and walked round to spend the evening

with Agatha and her mother. They both remarked that I

was pale and haggard. About nine Professor Pratt-

Haldane came in, and we played a game of whist. I

tried hard to concentrate my attention upon the cards,

but the feeling of restlessness grew and grew until I

found it impossible to struggle against it. I simply

COULD not sit still at the table. At last, in the very

middle of a hand, I threw my cards down and, with some

sort of an incoherent apology about having an

appointment, I rushed from the room. As if in a dream

I have a vague recollection of tearing through the

hall, snatching my hat from the stand, and slamming the

door behind me. As in a dream, too, I have the

impression of the double line of gas-lamps, and my

bespattered boots tell me that I must have run down the

middle of the road. It was all misty and strange and

unnatural. I came to Wilson's house; I saw Mrs. Wilson

and I saw Miss Penclosa. I hardly recall what we

talked about, but I do remember that Miss P. shook the

head of her crutch at me in a playful way, and accused

me of being late and of losing interest in our

experiments. There was no mesmerism, but I stayed some

time and have only just returned.

My brain is quite clear again now, and I can think over

what has occurred. It is absurd to suppose that it is

merely weakness and force of habit. I tried to explain

it in that way the other night, but it will no longer

suffice. It is something much deeper and more terrible

than that. Why, when I was at the Mardens' whist-

table, I was dragged away as if the noose of a rope had

been cast round me. I can no longer disguise it from

myself. The woman has her grip upon me. I am in her

clutch. But I must keep my head and reason it out and

see what is best to be done.

But what a blind fool I have been! In my enthusiasm

over my research I have walked straight into the pit,

although it lay gaping before me. Did she not herself

warn me? Did she not tell me, as I can read in my own

journal, that when she has acquired power over a

subject she can make him do her will? And she has

acquired that power over me. I am for the moment at

the beck and call of this creature with the crutch. I

must come when she wills it. I must do as she wills. 

Worst of all, I must feel as she wills. I loathe her

and fear her, yet, while I am under the spell, she can

doubtless make me love her.

There is some consolation in the thought, then, that

those odious impulses for which I have blamed myself do

not really come from me at all. They are all

transferred from her, little as I could have guessed it

at the time. I feel cleaner and lighter for the

thought.

April 8. Yes, now, in broad daylight, writing coolly

and with time for reflection, I am compelled to confirm

every thing which I wrote in my journal last night. I

am in a horrible position, but, above all, I must not

lose my head. I must pit my intellect against her

powers. After all, I am no silly puppet, to dance at

the end of a string. I have energy, brains, courage. 

For all her devil's tricks I may beat her yet. May! I

MUST, or what is to become of me?

Let me try to reason it out! This woman, by her own

explanation, can dominate my nervous organism. She can

project herself into my body and take command of it. 

She has a parasite soul; yes, she is a parasite, a

monstrous parasite. She creeps into my frame as the

hermit crab does into the whelk's shell. I am

powerless What can I do? I am dealing with forces of

which I know nothing. And I can tell no one of my

trouble. They would set me down as a madman. 

Certainly, if it got noised abroad, the university

would say that they had no need of a devil-ridden

professor. And Agatha! No, no, I must face it alone.

III

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!

IV

6.45 P. M. No, it is useless. There is no human help

for me; I must fight this out single-handed. Two

courses lie before me. I might become this woman's

lover. Or I must endure such persecutions as she can

inflict upon me. Even if none come, I shall live in a

hell of apprehension. But she may torture me, she may

drive me mad, she may kill me: I will never, never,

never give in. What can she inflict which would be

worse than the loss of Agatha, and the knowledge that I

am a perjured liar, and have forfeited the name of

gentleman?

Pratt-Haldane was most amiable, and listened with all

politeness to my story. But when I looked at his heavy

set features, his slow eyes, and the ponderous study

furniture which surrounded him, I could hardly tell him

what I had come to say. It was all so substantial, so

material. And, besides, what would I myself have said

a short month ago if one of my colleagues had come to

me with a story of demonic possession? Perhaps. I

should have been less patient than he was. As it was,

he took notes of my statement, asked me how much tea I

drank, how many hours I slept, whether I had been

overworking much, had I had sudden pains in the head,

evil dreams, singing in the ears, flashes before the

eyes--all questions which pointed to his belief that

brain congestion was at the bottom of my trouble. 

Finally he dismissed me with a great many platitudes

about open-air exercise, and avoidance of nervous

excitement. His prescription, which was for chloral

and bromide, I rolled up and threw into the gutter.

No, I can look for no help from any human being. If I

consult any more, they may put their heads together and

I may find myself in an asylum. I can but grip my

courage with both hands, and pray that an honest man

may not be abandoned.

April 10. It is the sweetest spring within the memory

of man. So green, so mild, so beautiful! Ah, what a

contrast between nature without and my own soul so torn

with doubt and terror! It has been an uneventful day,

but I know that I am on the edge of an abyss. I know

it, and yet I go on with the routine of my life. The

one bright spot is that Agatha is happy and well and

out of all danger. If this creature had a hand on each

of us, what might she not do?

April 16. The woman is ingenious in her torments. She

knows how fond I am of my work, and how highly my

lectures are thought of. So it is from that point that

she now attacks me. It will end, I can see, in my

losing my professorship, but I will fight to the

finish. She shall not drive me out of it without a

struggle.

I was not conscious of any change during my lecture

this morning save that for a minute or two I had a

dizziness and swimminess which rapidly passed away. On

the contrary, I congratulated myself upon having made

my subject (the functions of the red corpuscles) both

interesting and clear. I was surprised, therefore,

when a student came into my laboratory immediately

after the lecture, and complained of being puzzled by

the discrepancy between my statements and those in the

text books. He showed me his note-book, in which I was

reported as having in one portion of the lecture

championed the most outrageous and unscientific

heresies. Of course I denied it, and declared that he

had misunderstood me, but on comparing his notes with

those of his companions, it became clear that he was

right, and that I really had made some most

preposterous statements. Of course I shall explain it

away as being the result of a moment of aberration, but

I feel only too sure that it will be the first of a

series. It is but a month now to the end of the

session, and I pray that I may be able to hold out

until then.

April 26. Ten days have elapsed since I have had the

heart to make any entry in my journal. Why should I

record my own humiliation and degradation? I had vowed

never to open it again. And yet the force of habit is

strong, and here I find myself taking up once more the

record of my own dreadful experiences--in much the same

spirit in which a suicide has been known to take notes

of the effects of the poison which killed him.

Well, the crash which I had foreseen has come--and that

no further back than yesterday. The university

authorities have taken my lectureship from me. It has

been done in the most delicate way, purporting to be a

temporary measure to relieve me from the effects of

overwork, and to give me the opportunity of recovering

my health. None the less, it has been done, and I am

no longer Professor Gilroy. The laboratory is still in

my charge, but I have little doubt that that also will

soon go.

The fact is that my lectures had become the laughing-

stock of the university. My class was crowded with

students who came to see and hear what the eccentric

professor would do or say next. I cannot go into the

detail of my humiliation. Oh, that devilish woman! 

There is no depth of buffoonery and imbecility to which

she has not forced me. I would begin my lecture

clearly and well, but always with the sense of a coming

eclipse. Then as I felt the influence I would struggle

against it, striving with clenched hands and beads of

sweat upon my brow to get the better of it, while the

students, hearing my incoherent words and watching my

contortions, would roar with laughter at the antics of

their professor. And then, when she had once fairly

mastered me, out would come the most outrageous

things--silly jokes, sentiments as though I were

proposing a toast, snatches of ballads, personal abuse

even against some member of my class. And then in a

moment my brain would clear again, and my lecture would

proceed decorously to the end. No wonder that my

conduct has been the talk of the colleges. No wonder

that the University Senate has been compelled to take

official notice of such a scandal. Oh, that devilish

woman!

And the most dreadful part of it all is my own

loneliness. Here I sit in a commonplace English bow-

window, looking out upon a commonplace English street

with its garish 'buses and its lounging policeman, and

behind me there hangs a shadow which is out of all

keeping with the age and place. In the home of

knowledge I am weighed down and tortured by a power of

which science knows nothing. No magistrate would

listen to me. No paper would discuss my case. No

doctor would believe my symptoms. My own most intimate

friends would only look upon it as a sign of brain

derangement. I am out of all touch with my kind. Oh,

that devilish woman! Let her have a care! She may

push me too far. When the law cannot help a man, he

may make a law for himself.

She met me in the High Street yesterday evening and

spoke to me. It was as well for her, perhaps, that it

was not between the hedges of a lonely country road. 

She asked me with her cold smile whether I had been

chastened yet. I did not deign to answer her. "We

must try another turn of the screw;" said she. Have a

care, my lady, have a care! I had her at my mercy

once. Perhaps another chance may come.

April 28. The suspension of my lectureship has had the

effect also of taking away her means of annoying me,

and so I have enjoyed two blessed days of peace. After

all, there is no reason to despair. Sympathy pours in

to me from all sides, and every one agrees that it is

my devotion to science and the arduous nature of my

researches which have shaken my nervous system. I have

had the kindest message from the council advising me to

travel abroad, and expressing the confident hope that I

may be able to resume all my duties by the beginning of

the summer term. Nothing could be more flattering than

their allusions to my career and to my services to the

university. It is only in misfortune that one can test

one's own popularity. This creature may weary of

tormenting me, and then all may yet be well. May God

grant it!

April 29. Our sleepy little town has had a small

sensation. The only knowledge of crime which we ever

have is when a rowdy undergraduate breaks a few lamps

or comes to blows with a policeman. Last night,

however, there was an attempt made to break-into the

branch of the Bank of England, and we are all in a

flutter in consequence.

Parkenson, the manager, is an intimate friend of mine,

and I found him very much excited when I walked round

there after breakfast. Had the thieves broken into the

counting-house, they would still have had the safes to

reckon with, so that the defence was considerably

stronger than the attack. Indeed, the latter does not

appear to have ever been very formidable. Two of the

lower windows have marks as if a chisel or some such

instrument had been pushed under them to force them

open. The police should have a good clue, for the

wood-work had been done with green paint only the day

before, and from the smears it is evident that some of

it has found its way on to the criminal's hands or

clothes.

4.30 P. M. Ah, that accursed woman! That thrice

accursed woman! Never mind! She shall not beat me! 

No, she shall not! But, oh, the she-devil! She has

taken my professorship. Now she would take my honor. 

Is there nothing I can do against her, nothing save---- 

Ah, but, hard pushed as I am, I cannot bring myself to

think of that!

It was about an hour ago that I went into my bedroom,

and was brushing my hair before the glass, when

suddenly my eyes lit upon something which left me so

sick and cold that I sat down upon the edge of the bed

and began to cry. It is many a long year since I shed

tears, but all my nerve was gone, and I could but sob

and sob in impotent grief and anger. There was my

house jacket, the coat I usually wear after dinner,

hanging on its peg by the wardrobe, with the right

sleeve thickly crusted from wrist to elbow with daubs

of green paint.

So this was what she meant by another turn of the

screw! She had made a public imbecile of me. Now she

would brand me as a criminal. This time she has

failed. But how about the next? I dare not think of

it--and of Agatha and my poor old mother! I wish that

I were dead!

Yes, this is the other turn of the screw. And this is

also what she meant, no doubt, when she said that I had

not realized yet the power she has over me. I look

back at my account of my conversation with her, and I

see how she declared that with a slight exertion of her

will her subject would be conscious, and with a

stronger one unconscious. Last night I was

unconscious. I could have sworn that I slept soundly

in my bed without so much as a dream. And yet those

stains tell me that I dressed, made my way out,

attempted to open the bank windows, and returned. Was

I observed? Is it possible that some one saw me do it

and followed me home? Ah, what a hell my life has

become! I have no peace, no rest. But my patience is

nearing its end.

10 P. M. I have cleaned my coat with turpentine. I do

not think that any one could have seen me. It was with

my screw-driver that I made the marks. I found it all

crusted with paint, and I have cleaned it. My head

aches as if it would burst, and I have taken five

grains of antipyrine. If it were not for Agatha, I

should have taken fifty and had an end of it.

May 3. Three quiet days. This hell fiend is like a

cat with a mouse. She lets me loose only to pounce

upon me again. I am never so frightened as when every

thing is still. My physical state is deplorable--

perpetual hiccough and ptosis of the left eyelid.

I have heard from the Mardens that they will be back

the day after to-morrow. I do not know whether I am

glad or sorry. They were safe in London. Once here

they may be drawn into the miserable network in which I

am myself struggling. And I must tell them of it. I

cannot marry Agatha so long as I know that I am not

responsible for my own actions. Yes, I must tell them,

even if it brings every thing to an end between us.

To-night is the university ball, and I must go. God

knows I never felt less in the humor for festivity, but

I must not have it said that I am unfit to appear in

public. If I am seen there, and have speech with some

of the elders of the university it will go a long way

toward showing them that it would be unjust to take my

chair away from me.

10 P. M. I have been to the ball. Charles Sadler and

I went together, but I have come away before him. I

shall wait up for him, however, for, indeed, I fear to

go to sleep these nights. He is a cheery, practical

fellow, and a chat with him will steady my nerves. On

the whole, the evening was a great success. I talked

to every one who has influence, and I think that I made

them realize that my chair is not vacant quite yet. 

The creature was at the ball--unable to dance, of

course, but sitting with Mrs. Wilson. Again and again

her eyes rested upon me. They were almost the last

things I saw before I left the room. Once, as I sat

sideways to her, I watched her, and saw that her gaze

was following some one else. It was Sadler, who was

dancing at the time with the second Miss Thurston. To

judge by her expression, it is well for him that he is

not in her grip as I am. He does not know the escape

he has had. I think I hear his step in the street now,

and I will go down and let him in. If he will----

May 4. Why did I break off in this way last night? I

never went down stairs, after all--at least, I have no

recollection of doing so. But, on the other hand, I

cannot remember going to bed. One of my hands is

greatly swollen this morning, and yet I have no

remembrance of injuring it yesterday. Otherwise, I am

feeling all the better for last night's festivity. But

I cannot understand how it is that I did not meet

Charles Sadler when I so fully intended to do so. Is

it possible---- My God, it is only too probable! Has

she been leading me some devil's dance again? I will

go down to Sadler and ask him.

Mid-day. The thing has come to a crisis. My life is

not worth living. But, if I am to die, then she shall

come also. I will not leave her behind, to drive some

other man mad as she has me. No, I have come to the

limit of my endurance. She has made me as desperate

and dangerous a man as walks the earth. God knows I

have never had the heart to hurt a fly, and yet, if I

had my hands now upon that woman, she should never

leave this room alive. I shall see her this very day,

and she shall learn what she has to expect from me.

I went to Sadler and found him, to my surprise, in bed. 

As I entered he sat up and turned a face toward me

which sickened me as I looked at it.

"Why, Sadler, what has happened?" I cried, but my heart

turned cold as I said it.

"Gilroy," he answered, mumbling with his swollen lips,

"I have for some weeks been under the impression that

you are a madman. Now I know it, and that you are a

dangerous one as well. If it were not that I am

unwilling to make a scandal in the college, you would

now be in the hands of the police."

"Do you mean----" I cried.

"I mean that as I opened the door last night you rushed

out upon me, struck me with both your fists in the

face, knocked me down, kicked me furiously in the side,

and left me lying almost unconscious in the street. 

Look at your own hand bearing witness against you."

Yes, there it was, puffed up, with sponge-like

knuckles, as after some terrific blow. What could I

do? Though he put me down as a madman, I must tell him

all. I sat by his bed and went over all my troubles

from the beginning. I poured them out with quivering

hands and burning words which might have carried

conviction to the most sceptical. "She

hates you and she hates me!" I cried. "She revenged

herself last night on both of us at once. She saw me

leave the ball, and she must have seen you also. She

knew how long it would take you to reach home. Then

she had but to use her wicked will. Ah, your bruised

face is a small thing beside my bruised soul!"

He was struck by my story. That was evident. "Yes,

yes, she watched me out of the room," he muttered. 

"She is capable of it. But is it possible that she has

really reduced you to this? What do you intend to do?"

"To stop it!" I cried. "I am perfectly desperate; I

shall give her fair warning to-day, and the next time

will be the last."

"Do nothing rash," said he.

"Rash!" I cried. "The only rash thing is that I should

postpone it another hour." With that I rushed to my

room, and here I am on the eve of what may be the great

crisis of my life. I shall start at once. I have

gained one thing to-day, for I have made one man, at

least, realize the truth of this monstrous experience

of mine. And, if the worst should happen, this diary

remains as a proof of the goad that has driven me.

Evening. When I came to Wilson's, I was shown up, and

found that he was sitting with Miss Penclosa. For half

an hour I had to endure his fussy talk about his recent

research into the exact nature of the spiritualistic

rap, while the creature and I sat in silence looking

across the room at each other. I read a sinister

amusement in her eyes, and she must have seen hatred

and menace in mine. I had almost despaired of having

speech with her when he was called from the room, and

we were left for a few moments together.

"Well, Professor Gilroy--or is it Mr. Gilroy?" said

she, with that bitter smile of hers. "How is your

friend Mr. Charles Sadler after the ball?"

"You fiend!" I cried. "You have come to the end of

your tricks now. I will have no more of them. Listen

to what I say." I strode across and shook her roughly

by the shoulder "As sure as there is a God in heaven, I

swear that if you try another of your deviltries upon

me I will have your life for it. Come what may, I will

have your life. I have come to the end of what a man

can endure."

"Accounts are not quite settled between us," said she,

with a passion that equalled my own. "I can love, and

I can hate. You had your choice. You chose to spurn

the first; now you must test the other. It will take a

little more to break your spirit, I see, but broken it

shall be. Miss Marden comes back to-morrow, as I

understand."

"What has that to do with you?" I cried. "It is a

pollution that you should dare even to think of her. 

If I thought that you would harm her----"

She was frightened, I could see, though she tried to

brazen it out. She read the black thought in my mind,

and cowered away from me.

"She is fortunate in having such a champion," said she. 

"He actually dares to threaten a lonely woman. I must

really congratulate Miss Marden upon her protector."

The words were bitter, but the voice and manner were

more acid still.

"There is no use talking," said I. "I only came here

to tell you,--and to tell you most solemnly,--that your

next outrage upon me will be your last." With that, as

I heard Wilson's step upon the stair, I walked from the

room. Ay, she may look venomous and deadly, but, for

all that, she is beginning to see now that she has as

much to fear from me as I can have from her. Murder! 

It has an ugly sound. But you don't talk of murdering

a snake or of murdering a tiger. Let her have a care

now.

May 5. I met Agatha and her mother at the station at

eleven o'clock. She is looking so bright, so happy, so

beautiful. And she was so overjoyed to see me. What

have I done to deserve such love? I went back home

with them, and we lunched together. All the troubles

seem in a moment to have been shredded back from my

life. She tells me that I am looking pale and worried

and ill. The dear child puts it down to my loneliness

and the perfunctory attentions of a housekeeper. I

pray that she may never know the truth! May the

shadow, if shadow there must be, lie ever black across

my life and leave hers in the sunshine. I have just

come back from them, feeling a new man. With her by my

side I think that I could show a bold face to any thing

which life might send.

5 P. M. Now, let me try to be accurate. Let me try to

say exactly how it occurred. It is fresh in my mind,

and I can set it down correctly, though it is not

likely that the time will ever come when I shall forget

the doings of to-day.

I had returned from the Mardens' after lunch, and was

cutting some microscopic sections in my freezing

microtome, when in an instant I lost consciousness in

the sudden hateful fashion which has become only too

familiar to me of late.

When my senses came back to me I was sitting in a small

chamber, very different from the one in which I had

been working. It was cosey and bright, with chintz-

covered settees, colored hangings, and a thousand

pretty little trifles upon the wall. A small

ornamental clock ticked in front of me, and the hands

pointed to half-past three. It was all quite familiar

to me, and yet I stared about for a moment in a half-

dazed way until my eyes fell upon a cabinet photograph

of myself upon the top of the piano. On the other side

stood one of Mrs. Marden. Then, of course, I

remembered where I was. It was Agatha's boudoir.

But how came I there, and what did I want? A horrible

sinking came to my heart. Had I been sent here on some

devilish errand? Had that errand already been done? 

Surely it must; otherwise, why should I be allowed to

come back to consciousness? Oh, the agony of that

moment! What had I done? I sprang to my feet in my

despair, and as I did so a small glass bottle fell from

my knees on to the carpet.

It was unbroken, and I picked it up. Outside was

written "Sulphuric Acid. Fort." When I drew the round

glass stopper, a thick fume rose slowly up, and a

pungent, choking smell pervaded the room. I recognized

it as one which I kept for chemical testing in my

chambers. But why had I brought a bottle of vitriol

into Agatha's chamber? Was it not this thick, reeking

liquid with which jealous women had been known to mar

the beauty of their rivals? My heart stood still as I

held the bottle to the light. Thank God, it was full! 

No mischief had been done as yet. But had Agatha come

in a minute sooner, was it not certain that the hellish

parasite within me would have dashed the stuff into

her---- Ah, it will not bear to be thought of! But it

must have been for that. Why else should I have

brought it? At the thought of what I might have done

my worn nerves broke down, and I sat shivering and

twitching, the pitiable wreck of a man.

It was the sound of Agatha's voice and the rustle of

her dress which restored me. I looked up, and saw her

blue eyes, so full of tenderness and pity, gazing down

at me.

"We must take you away to the country, Austin," she

said. "You want rest and quiet. You look wretchedly

ill."

"Oh, it is nothing!" said I, trying to smile. "It was

only a momentary weakness. I am all right again now."

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting. Poor boy, you must

have been here quite half an hour! The vicar was in

the drawing-room, and, as I knew that you did not care

for him, I thought it better that Jane should show you

up here. I thought the man would never go!"

"Thank God he stayed! Thank God he stayed!" I cried

hysterically.

"Why, what is the matter with you, Austin?" she asked,

holding my arm as I staggered up from the chair. "Why

are you glad that the vicar stayed? And what is this

little bottle in your hand?"

"Nothing," I cried, thrusting it into my pocket. "But

I must go. I have something important to do."

"How stern you look, Austin! I have never seen your

face like that. You are angry?"

"Yes, I am angry."

"But not with me?"

"No, no, my darling! You would not understand."

"But you have not told me why you came."

"I came to ask you whether you would always love me--no

matter what I did, or what shadow might fall on my

name. Would you believe in me and trust me however

black appearances might be against me?"

"You know that I would, Austin."

"Yes, I know that you would. What I do I shall do for

you. I am driven to it. There is no other way out, my

darling!" I kissed her and rushed from the room.

The time for indecision was at an end. As long as the

creature threatened my own prospects and my honor there

might be a question as to what I should do. But now,

when Agatha--my innocent Agatha--was endangered, my

duty lay before me like a turnpike road. I had no

weapon, but I never paused for that. What weapon

should I need, when I felt every muscle quivering with

the strength of a frenzied man? I ran through the

streets, so set upon what I had to do that I was only

dimly conscious of the faces of friends whom I met--

dimly conscious also that Professor Wilson met me,

running with equal precipitance in the opposite

direction. Breathless but resolute I reached the house

and rang the bell. A white cheeked maid opened the

door, and turned whiter yet when she saw the face that

looked in at her.

"Show me up at once to Miss Penclosa," I demanded.

"Sir," she gasped, "Miss Penclosa died this afternoon

at half-past three!"