Jackset to work with somewhat feverish ardour to collect the necessary materials for his task. In a minute or two Pallister entered the little room.
"Can I help in any way?" he inquired.
Jack glanced up.
"Yes. You might go and get one of my clean painting-blouses from the box, and give it to Lord Winborough. He must put it on, or he will get smothered with this messy stuff."
Pallister obeyed. Shaking out the laundress's folds, he laid the clean garment insinuatingly over a chair. Then noticing that Winborough was standing surveying the charcoal outline of Maudie, he whistled softly to himself, made a grimace, and skipped rapidly back to the safety of the plaster-room. For the nonce Geoff and his cousin were left alone.
Oft-times who can tell precisely how it was, or why or whence a quarrel sprang to life? Geoff was resolved not to mention Evarne; Winborough was practically bound by honour to the same course. Yet certain it is that this one subject—religiously tabooed, yet all the time uppermost in both minds—somehow came to the front. Then a word taken amiss, a tone of the voice, a glance of the eye, and hot anger sapped the resolutions of cooler moments. In the main, both cousins held firm to their original determinations. Geoff made no mention of the imminence of his marriage; Winborough guarded his fatal secret loyally.But despite this, their voices, raised loud in wrath, penetrated to the ears of Jack and Pallister in the plaster-room.
"Good gracious, what's up?" queried Pallister, with a startled expression. "Do you suppose Lord Winborough has found out that Maudie has been here?"
"Of course not. Can't you guess? I'll bet anything you like they're quarrelling over Geoff's engagement."
"They jolly well are quarrelling, aren't they?"
"I should just think so. I wonder what we had better do."
"Is everything ready? How very awkward. We can hardly intrude in the middle of a family debate, can we?"
They remained in doubt, listening with growing concern to the storm that was raging in the next room. In a few minutes the question of the course they were to take was settled for them. The door of the studio opening on to the little corridor was flung wide, and Winborough's voice was heard calling in curt, imperative tones—
"Mr. Hardy! Mr. Hardy!"
With a bound Jack appeared at the door of the plaster-room. Winborough's face was flushed with anger, his words were brief and final.
"Possibly I may write to you about this bust. I'll consider the matter. Good-day."
Waiting for no response, he turned and strode across the studio to the other door. There he spun round suddenly on his heel and flung a final threat at Geoff.
"As to you—well—you'll be convinced of your folly very shortly. On Thursday morning you will receive a packet of papers from my lawyer that may serve to bring you to your senses. After that, I wash my hands of you."
So saying, he left the room, and in another moment the front door had banged behind him.
"What's up," inquired Pallister with assumed innocence, entering the studio. "Where's his lordship gone to, running off just when we are ready for him?"
Geoff made no answer. He sat moodily by the table, his chin resting upon his clenched hand. He murmured a few words beneath his breath, but bestowed not the least attention upon his two companions.
Jack spoke despondently.
"I'm afraid Lord Winborough isn't going to let me do that bust after all. Didn't you hear what he said? That possibly he would write to me. Only 'possibly.' I know those 'possiblies.'"
Pallister's countenance assumed an expression of incredulous disgust.
"Oh, I say—lost our lord! What's the matter with him?"
Jack remained silent, unable to answer his query. Geoff pulled himself together.
"It can't be helped," he said briefly. "Winborough and I have been expressing our candid opinion of one another, and one of the results is, as Jack surmises, that the sittings for the bust are indefinitely postponed. Where is Evarne? Hasn't she returned yet?"
"No, I expect she went a little way with Maudie."
"I'm glad she didn't see that brute," announced Geoff, going to the window and looking frowningly after the motorcar that was bearing his cousin swiftly down the road.
"What a fine old row," murmured Pallister. Then keen regret for the abandoned life-mask swept across his mind, and he cried impulsively: "Oh, I say, though! What a beastly disappointment it all is. Don't you think you're a jolly nuisance, Geoff, spoiling all our arrangements so calmly?"
Geoff turned sharply round at this piece of impertinence, but ere the angry retort had passed his lips, his eye fell upon Jack, who was sitting silently apart, both his attitude and expression betraying the uttermost dejection. Geoff crossed over and stood before his friend.
"I am sorry, Jack," he said simply.
"Don't trouble about me," was the somewhat sullen answer. "Luck is always against me—always has been—always will be, I suppose. He won't write. He was only doing it to oblige you. Of course I knew that well enough. Now I shall stick in the mud forever, I suppose. I never seem to get a chance like other fellows. Well—never mind! Don't let's talk about it any more."
Here Pallister laid his hand somewhat timidly on Geoff's arm.
"I didn't mean to vex you," he said in a very small voice.
Geoff turned his gaze from Jack for a moment. Pallister's troubled countenance touched him.
"That's all right," he said with a fleeting smile, at the same time giving a reassuring pat to the hand that lay on his arm. Then he forgot all about that youth again, and looked with worried eyes at his friend once more.
Jack was dismally wiping his fingers free from plaster. This task completed, he stood up.
"I may just as well go home," he said, "there's nothing for me to do here. I—I shall have to think about what new piece of work I can commence."
"What rubbish!" cried Geoff encouragingly, putting his hands on Jack's shoulders and giving them an affectionate squeeze. Then pushing him back into the vacated seat: "Whatever should you go home for? You can think quite as well here, you dear old duffer, and we can help you. I'm awfully sorry about Winborough, though I know that does no good, does it? But look here, Jack. I know a few other people of public interest. We'll find someone else quite as good for our purpose to fill the breach. I'll see to it for you. Now, who shall it be? What about——"
But before he could make any suggestion Pallister interposed eagerly.
"I say, what about himself, Jackie, my boy? Since heis going to do such a romantic story-bookish thing as marry the most beautiful model alive, it will make him a far more interesting person than old Winborough has been for many a year. If you could sculpt a bust of Miss Stornway also, so that you could exhibit the two together at the Academy or somewhere—why, everybody would be planking down their shilling just to see your work; your name would be in everybody's mouth; orders would come rolling in; you'd make your reputation in a day. Now, isn't that a brilliant idea of mine? We're always forgetting the little fact that Geoff really is an important person. But he is, you know, both as the rising great artist and as a future peer."
Jack hardly waited for the conclusion of this speech before he interposed. There was already a fresh note of hope in his voice.
"It's perfectly true—it is indeed. Not all that talk about orders rolling in and reputations made in a day. I know that sort of thing doesn't happen. But what he said about you, Geoff, was true. If you would only sit for me, it would be every whit as helpful as if Lord Winborough had done so. As you say, Pallister, even more valuable, as this marriage with Miss Stornway is quite certain to arouse interest. Will you consent?"
The proposed victim laughed.
"I didn't bargain for this," he declared. "Perhaps, after all, you had better go home, Jack, and do your thinking there, away from this young man and his brilliant ideas!"
"So even you can't deny it is a splendid solution of the difficulty!" declared Pallister gleefully.
Evidently Jack was of the same way of thinking. The sullen unhappy expression had entirely vanished from his features.
"Please do, Geoff," he said very earnestly; and this proved all-sufficient. His friend gave the required promise without further hesitation.
"But I must warn you," he went on, "that I am going away—out of England—very soon indeed. It may be several months before I can sit for you. Hadn't you better choose someone else, after all?"
But Jack was adamant.
"No indeed. But I can take a mask now, can't I? Then with its aid I can get well forward without you. You'll let me do it at once, won't you? Everything is ready."
"Well, I don't know, I can't stop long. I've got to get down to the City."
"But a mask is quite a short job. It can easily be finished before lunch."
This was not to be gainsaid, and the afternoon gave more than sufficient time for Geoff's other still more urgent affairs. Thus he gave in with the brief remark—
"Set to work, then."
Pallister indulged in a leap of delight.
"Now, Jack! How do we start? What can I do?"
"First of all, hand Geoff that blouse, while I bring in the materials."
Pallister seized the clean holland overall, and while Geoff removed his coat and obediently arrayed himself therein, the youth sped away to lend his indispensable assistance in the plaster-room.
Soon all was ready. The long divan was drawn forward. Geoff lay down, moving his head restlessly until it was endurably at ease amid the protecting towels. Jack wrapped further cloths carefully over the fair hair, tucked yet another round his subject's neck, then set to work with cold-cream, quills and cotton wool.
"Don't forget that when you raise your left hand it means 'yes,' and your right means 'no,'" he said, as he proceeded to mix the plaster with warm water. After a moment he announced, "It's all ready now."
"Forge ahead, then," said Geoff cheerfully, as he noisilyand ostentatiously sucked in a last draught of fresh air. Then he smiled, but seeing the first spoonful of liquid plaster approaching his face, he shut his eyes quickly, composed his features, and resigned himself to fate.
After the first layer was safely on, the two strings that were required for cutting up the mask were laid in place and pressed down firmly. Then the remainder of the plaster was used. Pallister watched every stage with eager interest.
"Can you hear anything now?" he queried.
"Our voices even don't reach him unless we shout very loudly, but all the time he is hearing his own heart thud, thud, thudding. I know!"
They waited in silence until the moment should be reached when the plaster was in a fit condition for Jack to draw up the two strings and thus divide the mask. As they sat there a slight tumult was heard in the street without. It was merely a couple of dogs fighting, yet under any circumstances Pallister found it impossible to remain impervious to external excitements. In an instant he was at the window.
"Pooh! I hoped it was a mad dog, but it's only a silly fight, and now even that's over," he remarked in disgusted tones.
He was turning away, when suddenly he stopped short, bent forward, then beckoned excitedly to Jack.
"I say, Do come here! Hurry up and look. Don't you dare grumble at your luck again, for I'll eat my hat if here isn't your long-sought 'Belle Dame'! Isn't that just the red hair and pale little face you want?"
In a second Jack was by his side. His glance followed Pallister's directing finger, and he positively gasped.
"Good heavens!" he cried excitedly, staring down into the street. "It's exactly what I've been looking for! Pallister, it's like a dream!"
Undeniably the girl was uncommon—beautiful in her own curious style—individual—almost peculiar.
"But do you think she would pose for you? It's wildly unlikely that she should just happen to be a model."
Some magnetic wave had apparently drawn the passing damsel's attention upwards towards Pallister. She saw him beckon; saw another masculine figure appear by his side in response to the summons. She had cast down her eyes demurely enough and walked on, but at this moment she looked back, flashing a quick glance upwards over her shoulder. Seeing the two men gazing as if spellbound at her retreating figure, she smiled at them. It was a fleeting smile, wicked and subtle, narrowing her eyes and bringing alluring dimples into either cheek. Then she passed on her way.
"I'm positive she would sit for you, if you paid her enough," commented Pallister sagely. "Hi, there! Hi!—Miss!"
But the girl did not hear his voice.
And then Jack fell away from grace. The hand of ambition beckoned, and the faint whisperings of duty proved impotent to stay his following steps.
"I must go; I must get her!" he declared hoarsely, shaken from his habitual calm. "My luck will indeed turn now. I shall win everything from that picture. It will drive me mad never to paint it. Pallister, you can keep an eye on Geoff, can't you? He's all right; he wants nothing whatsoever but to be left alone. The mask is very nearly ready to come off now, but that's a slow job. I can't stop, can I? Geoff won't be scared by the waiting. He's been through it before, you know. You just sit quietly by him."
"Trust me; I'll nurse him," assented Pallister gaily. "Buck up, old chap, or she'll be gone."
But the remainder of his sentence was wasted upon the atmosphere. Jack was already bounding downstairs, everyother thought excluded from his mind by the mental picture of a pale-faced girl smiling upwards over her shoulder.
"I shall succeed now! I shall succeed! I know it—if I can get this girl to sit!"
Thus his innermost conviction spoke loudly as he hurried along the busy street; yet every second the tiny voice of conscience grew more clamorous and insistent. Under such urgent stress of circumstances, surely any artist would have maintained that it was forgivable enough to have thus left Geoffrey for several minutes longer than was necessary, in what was certainly an unpleasant and possibly a dangerous situation! But knowing Frank Pallister, would not one and all have asserted that under any pretext it was infamous that Jack should abandon his friend to so unreliable and careless—let alone totally inexperienced—an assistant?
"I must go back. Soon—almost immediately," Jack declared within himself; and with his mind torn in two directions, he hurried on with yet more frantic haste in pursuit of this long-desired and widely-sought model.
Meanwhile, heedless of the instructions to sit by Geoff and watch him, Pallister adopted the more interesting occupation of following the pursuit from his post of vantage at the window. He gave Jack an encouraging cheer as that young man appeared from out the house, rushed through the garden and along the road. Suddenly the watcher beheld a state of affairs that filled him with dismay. The quarry turned out of the main road and continued her journey down a side-street, while Jack, still hurrying along the crowded thoroughfare, ran straight over this crossing without so much as thinking to glance down it in his haste. He passed it by heedlessly, continuing his now vain journey onwards.
Pallister literally danced with distress.
"He will lose her—oh, the idiot! Hi, Jack! Jack! Round that corner."
But Jack was much too far off to hear this shout. In an instant Pallister's mind was made up. He alone could save the situation. He made a dash towards the door.
Suddenly he remembered Geoff, and stopped his hurried rush so abruptly that he slid several yards on the polished boards. But Frank Pallister, Esq., that youth of energy and enterprise, was not easily to be baulked when one of his brilliant ideas was on hand. He sped hastily back to the couch.
"Hullo, Geoff! I say, Geoff! You all right?"
The left hand of the prostrate figure was immediately raised in token of assent. With his mind now perfectly at ease, Pallister darted downstairs. He was in a glow of self-appreciation. What resource he showed in all emergencies! What a truly valuable all-round friend he was, to be sure!
Thenfor a brief space of time the studio remained deserted, save for the prostrate figure lying motionless upon the couch. A big blue-bottle fly buzzed around the open window, flinging itself at intervals noisily against the glass. From the street without arose the low hum of passing traffic. Otherwise a dull, peaceful silence held sway.
But in the adjoining chamber sat one from whom all peace was far remote. Even as Pallister had darted down the front stairs, Evarne had entered from Langthorne Place and gained the plaster-room. An irresistible force had drawn her back to the vicinity of her lover and her enemy; but still unwilling to make her presence known to them, she had crept softly into the one little room to which access was possible without entering the studio.
As she sat there waiting—waiting for she knew not what—every nerve in her body thrilled painfully. Restless nights and lack of food had rendered her unfitted to cope with the continuous train of cruel, tearing emotions that had fallen to her lot that morning. The gnawing anxiety of the last half-hour had been nigh unendurable. A very few seconds of this further suspense, this acute nerve-strain, and she uttered an audible groan, forced from her lips by both mental and physical distress.
Startled by the sound, she tried to turn her thoughts from the present to all that was most bright in the future.
"So—we are to be married to-morrow. Oh, Geoff, Geoff, my darling!"
But anxiety and apprehension beset her too closely to be avoided. Close upon this blissful reflection followed another.
"Then—after that—not only my dear one's happiness, but my life—my very life—depend upon that vile creature here, to whom nothing is sacred. Am I doing right by Geoff? Oh, if I could only rid myself of these doubts!"
She sighed and twisted her hands together. Then composed herself to thought once more.
"But my mind was fully convinced, my conscience upheld me surely enough until Morris came. Would to Heaven the vessel that brought him to England had sunk to the bottom of the sea, and that he lay silenced forever beneath the waters."
Again she sighed. Again she thought.
"Ah me! If these were but the times when witches reigned, gladly would I sell my very soul to the powers of evil in return for a charm—a spell—to ensure that man's eternal silence."
Under the stress of such desperate desires, she found it impossible to remain quietly seated. Rising, she moved restlessly and without object to and fro from end to end of the little room. Suddenly she noticed that her dress had brushed against the table, and become slightly soiled with plaster. It was but a trifling matter, but as she shook and brushed it clean again, a sudden hot anger burned in her veins.
"It is outrageous!" she said fiercely within herself—"outrageous, that I should be thus forced to hide, with fear and trembling, in back rooms! Oh, how I hate that man! How he degrades me! How he has cursed my life! From the very first hour we met he has dragged me steadily downwards, and now—now—he is going to use his own sin to damn all the remainder of my life!
"Promises—what does that word mean to Morris Kenyon? Did he not promise my father to watch over me—to guard me—and how did he keep his word? And what promises did he not make to me—oh, again and again!—in what tender, earnest tones; and then—liar, liar! Morris talking morality to me! What right has he to do that? What about himself? What injustice, what evil, equals that of a man—middle-aged, wise in the world, strong, clever—using every advantage to win a young girl, and then—then—pretending that, even in his eyes, his own success renders the girl, not himself, infamous for ever?"
She clenched her hands violently. The bright colour that had flooded her cheeks mounted to her temples.
"I hate him—I loathe him! But, Heaven, how I fear him! If he should—oh, if he dares! If he only dares, I'll—I'll...."
In the heat of this sudden but enduring paroxysm of anger she lost the power of further thought. Her throat swelled, and before she could control herself she had given utterance to a series of half-sobbing, half-moaning cries of misery and baffled rage. Frantically she pressed both hands with desperate energy across her lips. She had but little self-control left; only by physical force could she possibly stay those cries of fear and anguish.
Then she stood motionless, glued to the spot by apprehension. Surely the men in the next room must have heard that wild lamentation? She strained her ears for the sound of footsteps. Her breast shook with the convulsive pantings of rage that is forced to subdue itself. Every throb of her heart came as a sharp pang.
No sound—no sound whatsoever. Suddenly she reeled against the table, clutching at it for support. A terrible idea—a conviction—had now assailed her. Morris was doubtless even at this moment telling her secret to his cousin. Ah—she knew! A whispered conversation wasgoing on in that strangely silent studio. Once again she was being cruelly betrayed by that man. This was surely more than flesh and blood could be called upon to endure.
In an instant all the tigress in her nature sprang eager and palpitating to the fore. Without a moment's hesitation she rushed wildly into the passage, and flung open the door of the studio.
On the threshold she stopped short in amazement. Solitude, save for the prostrate form upon the couch.
"Wherever are Geoff and Mr. Hardy and Pallister? Where can they have gone, to leave Morris alone in this manner?"
Even in the midst of her excitement, a plausible reason for the absence of at least one of the trio suggested itself.
"Oh, of course, Geoff had doubtless gone down to Doctors Commons to get that licence."
Then, shaken by a fresh access of indignation:
"And because of this vile creature here it may prove futile—a mere piece of waste paper! Or it may turn out to be really my death-warrant. Oh, my God, I cannot endure to look at him—to be beneath the same roof!"
And then, such are the powers of imagination, that, believing the man who lay before her to be him whom she had such ample cause to fear and hate, she instinctively knit her brows and drew a sharp breath audibly between her teeth, huddling her hands together on her chest with an actual shudder of repulsion.
And verily, even Love's penetration could scarce be blamed for not here discerning the truth. Even had Evarne been told to distinguish between her lover and her enemy under such conditions, the task would have bordered upon the impossible. With face and head completely covered, with hands strangely identical, with height and build so similar, and yet further disguised by an all-concealing painting-blouse, the most loving eye might easily have blundered.
But Evarne did not doubt—did not question. The very last words she had heard spoken in that studio were to the effect that Morris had come on purpose to submit himself to this operation. What room, then, was there for suspicion regarding the identity of this man whose face was concealed with the plaster mask? Upon the first glance she averted her eyes, standing trembling. After a minute of enduring this agony of repulsion she spoke aloud—unconsciously aloud—quite softly to herself. Her voice, though low, was curiously discordant and hoarse, pulsating with the powerful emotions that were so rapidly proving more than she could bear.
"Oh, it's wicked—it's cruel—it's unjust! He will tell everything after I'm married. He will glory in it. I know him. He is a devil incarnate! What have we done, Geoff and I, that we should be tortured here on earth? Oh, what can I do to save us both—what can I do? To be so helpless—to be driven utterly helpless into a corner like this—oh, I can't—I can't endure it! What am I to do? Tell me—tell me! I want help—help of any kind. Is there nothing Here or There can hear and help me?"
Her voice faded away. She stood, turning her head from side to side, looking around wildly. Her brow contracted itself into deeper furrows. In the silence she unconsciously bit at her finger-nails, tearing one down to the quick—yet she felt no pain.
Quite suddenly there awoke in her memory an almost obliterated recollection. Loudly and wrathfully she cried—
"Sekhet—you have failed me—you have forsaken me! I prayed to you once. Now you must answer my prayer, for I invoke you. You are great now as ever. I demand your help—demand it! How can I ensure that man's eternal silence? Tell me—tell me!"
She stood for a moment with trembling forefinger outstretched, indicating the motionless form upon the divan. Did she expect some mystic voice to respond to her appeal?No sound broke the silence, save the fly which hummed and buzzed and flung itself with blind unavailing endeavour against the window-panes.
But into her brain—that poor brain so tortured and goaded by cruel anxiety, by a bitter insult, by a great, passionate love threatened with destruction—sprang the instinctive thought of that primæval resource:
"Death! Death! Only death can bring eternal silence!"
Swiftly, yet very surely, a strange, unfamiliar influence had enwrapped this rebel against Fate. Who can declare authoritatively what supreme Power behind the Veil she had not summoned in that moment's distraught and reckless invocation? Be that as it may, she became obsessed by one of those all-mighty, dominating impulses that conquer the will, the judgment, even the desire; that crush down previously accepted ideas of right and wrong, forcing a fresh, oft-times dreaded, idea masterfully into a shrinking heart and mind.
And the message that had come to Evarne was terrible—terrific!
"Call Death to your aid! Kill your enemy! Kill him while there is yet time!"
Even through the passion of rage that shook her, she felt a momentary subduing chill of horror. She pressed her hands to either cheek, and with strained features, parted lips and staring, dilated eyes, gazed wildly into vacancy.
But this horrible inspiration was as a white light suddenly illuminating the dense dark path along which she had been groping. She laughed—a low laugh—terrible, for there was no ring of mirth therein.
"It is only justice—justice—justice—justice!" she cried, her voice rising upon every word. "He is the devil's emissary. The world will be well rid of him. It is justice—justice—justice!"
She had no more consecutive thoughts, no more reflection,no more hesitation. But one word rang in her mind. Justice! Justice! Justice! She rushed across the room with wild haste, and seized upon Andromache's golden fetter that lay upon a chair. With anger, fiery indignation and hatred, terror and mad love raging within her brain, all other emotions were effectively excluded. Pity, caution, lawfulness, fear of consequences—none of these found any place within her spirit in that dreadful hour. If the souls of the dead can verily watch over those they loved in life, broken indeed must be their heavenly peace and happiness. Rather they must be oft-times in hell.
Softly she fastened one fetter around a strong portion of the openwork carved wooden back of the couch; then, without a moment's warning, the handcuff at the other end of the chain was snapped round the nearest wrist of the prostrate figure. Futile was the immediate startled effort of the death-doomed man to rise. In an instant Evarne had dragged away those two quills through which was drawn the breath of life, and had pressed the still slightly unset plaster over the tiny holes. Then sinking on her knees, she seized her victim's remaining arm, clutching it to her breast with a desperate vigour.
Her eyes were convulsively shut, her lips parted over clenched teeth, as for what seemed an interminable period she was flung to and fro by the frenzied struggles of the strong arm she held captive. But gradually her task grew easier. Very soon that dire deed had taken its place amid the record of things done.
Cautiously she slackened her grasp. The arm, released, drooped heavily downwards from its shoulder, the hand resting inertly upon the floor. Evarne rose to her feet. Unfastening both ends of the golden fetter, she flung it back upon the chair, then left the studio without another glance at the twisted, distorted form of that dead man whose lips would speak no more words, either of devotion or of malice.
Deliberately she washed the plaster from her fingers. Her glance was firm and high, her bearing resolute and undaunted. Yet, as she dried her hands, she suddenly paused, and, leaning heavily on the edge of the little sink, uttered a long, trembling sigh such as can well up only from a cruelly over-burdened heart—a low, piteous moan—a stifled wail of despair.
"Oh, Geoff, Geoff! What am I? What have I become for your sake?"
She went out again into Langthorne Place and walked away. Only about five minutes had passed since she trod that pavement before, yet now...? Her pulses throbbed wildly, but she was assailed by no regret, no trace of self-reproach. She was appalled by, yet exalted in, her desperate deed. She was triumphant. She had conquered!
Jack, hastily returning, almost collided with Pallister, who issued from the side-street.
"So we've lost your unique 'Belle Dame,' worse luck to us! And a precious couple we must look out here, with no hats, and smeared painting-blouses and...."
But the remaining words died away at the sight of Jack's expression of undisguised alarm.
"Pallister! You surely haven't left Geoff alone! How infamous! Oh, how could you?"
Without waiting for any answer he darted across the road and ran with all speed for the studio.
"It doesn't matter," declared Pallister, somewhat subdued, hurrying after him. "He's all right. What's the trouble?"
"Oh, don't speak to me! How could you leave him?" was the sole response.
"Well, you seem to forget you did it yourself, if it's such a crime," Pallister replied tartly.
"More blame to me! But I left him in your charge;you left him alone—surely that makes all the difference. Good gracious, though—whatever possessed me? You're as irresponsible as a child, and I knew it—I knew it!"
He turned into the garden, and in a minute was bounding upstairs, closely followed by the indignant Pallister.
A quarter of an hour later, Evarne, pale yet supremely beautiful in her blush-rose gown, in her turn mounted the stairs. As she came in sight of the front door of the flat she saw that it stood wide open. From it was wafted faintly a piteous sound of sobbing and wailing.
"I suppose some will mourn Morris. I did not remember that," she reflected, as she entered and closed the front door behind her. Then, making her way across the hall to the studio, she went in, inquiring in splendidly feigned surprise and alarm, "What is the matter? What has happened?"
Poor Pallister was lying prostrate on the floor near the window, his hands, flung over his head, convulsively grasping great masses of fur that he had torn from the bearskin rug by which he lay. His whole body was writhing beneath choking, rending sobs. From him, Evarne slowly turned her gaze on Jack, who was seated near the couch. He, too, was shaking violently from head to foot; but as regards fixity of expression, hue and voluntary action, he might have been a figure of despair cut from marble.
A sudden pain darted through Evarne's brow. Unnerved by the display of such unexpected and unrestrained emotion, she was forced to lean against the side of the doorway for support, while her white face grew paler still.
"What—oh, I—what?"
None responded to her incoherent words. A cold chill encircled her. In the hot studio she shivered as in wintry weather.
"What has happened to Lord Winborough? Oh—where's?I want him quickly. I must see him, I tell you. Where is he?"
Jack rose from his chair.
"Go away—go away!" he breathed. "I—I can't—you mustn't know. Go away!"
Evarne was fast losing her forced calmness. She was assailed by a desperate longing to gain new courage from the ever-tender eyes of the man who loved her.
"I will go! I want to! I'm frightened here! But where is Geoff? Tell me, Jack—tell me! Send for him!"
"Geoff! Geoff!" wailed Pallister.
Evarne gave a violent start, and without moving from the doorway against which she was leaning, she bent her body forward in Pallister's direction.
"Why do you also call for him?" she queried.
The only response was a farther lament.
"Geoff, come back! Oh, Geoff, how could I leave you?"
Still bending forward, she swayed round towards Jack. Then her reluctant glance wandered from him to the form upon the couch. The mask had been removed, exposing a terrible face beneath, distorted somewhat, disfigured with fearsome livid patches and blue swollen lips. Around the mouth and nose clung mucus froth.
Evarne choked, struggling with sickness; but suddenly she sprang forward and seized Jack by the shoulders with unnatural strength.
"If you don't tell me where Geoff is, I'll—I'll——"
The menacing tones ceased abruptly, as Jack put out his shaking hands and grasped her wrists.
"I see you must be told. Well, then—this is it! He took his cousin's place, Evarne, and we—we left him alone—and—and something happened!"
For one long minute absolute silence reigned within the room. Pallister ceased sobbing and held his breath. Evarne did not speak, but stared at Jack with unwinkinggaze. He saw a fearsome change steal over her face. Every feature seemed to alter, to be transformed under his very eyes, becoming unrecognisable—horrible! Without warning, she pushed him violently away, and with a few rapid steps was by the side of the dead man. She laid her hand upon the fair hair.
"So it is you I have killed, Geoff!" she said, quietly enough.
"God in Heaven, what?" shouted Jack at the top of his voice.
Evarne did not speak, but suddenly plunging her hands through her damp hair she began to scream—wild, piercing shrieks that chilled the blood of those who heard. Nothing could stay her—until her voice gave way. Still she screamed on spasmodically, producing merely horrible and discordant sounds.
Loud shouts arose from the street. A policeman's shrill whistle blew frantically again and again.
And then Evarne commenced to laugh, a hoarse, derisive gurgle.
"Do you hear that laughter?" she cried huskily. "It is Morris Kenyon. It is funny for him, isn't it? And it's—yes—I see—that cat-faced goddess—Sekhet! So you all think the game is played out, do you? We'll see."
She clasped her arms around the dead form, pressing it tightly to her breast. She laid her cheek to Geoff's, and so rose with her white, distorted face besmeared and sullied.
Now loud continuous blows were resounding on the outer door. The electric bell rang forth unintermittently.
With swaying steps Evarne crossed the room. Pallister instinctively shrank back as the terrible spectacle advanced in his direction. At this a pair of bloodshot eyes were turned upon him, while a strained voice whispered calmly enough—
"Avoid Sekhet—tell everyone what I said. Never, never love too much. It is always dreadful in some way—always!Sooner or later—always! I must go now and tell Geoff everything myself."
Then, ere they could realise what was next to happen, she had put one knee on the window-sill and flung up her arms wildly. Instinctively both men rushed forward, but, happily, too late!
In another instant a broken mass lay peacefully unconscious forever upon the green bosom of Earth—our Mother.
Transcriber Notes:Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted.On page 5, a period was added after "rendered it congenial enough".On page 13, a period was added after "ingratiate herself into his regard".On page 19, "hiterto" was replaced with "hitherto".On page 26, the single quotation mark before "Cold now" was replaced with a double quotation mark.On page 27, a period was added after "rendered it congenial enough".On page 30, "hiterto" was replaced with "hitherto".On page 96, a period was added after "and entering, ordered something to eat".On page 98, "but he did look as" was replaced with "but she did look as".On page 102, "desplay" was replaced with "display".On page 108, "find" was replaced with "fine".On page 109, "mangeresses" was replaced with "manageresses".On page 114, the quotation mark was removed after "conceal the true state of affairs".On page 121, a period was added after "to my way o' thinking, miss".On page 143, "comgenial" was replaced with "congenial".On page 159, a quotation mark was added after "Caledonia's Bard".On page 173, a single quotation mark was replaced with a double quotation mark.On page 181, a single quotation mark was replaced with a double quotation mark.On page 190, a period was added after "the extent of this debt of gratitude".On page 192, a single quotation mark was replaced with a double quotation mark.On page 195, "somethimg" was replaced with "something".On page 195, a quotation mark was added after "I am so pleased about it."On page 225, "h:s" was replaced with "his".On page 243, "under-its" was replaced with "under its".On page 259, "t me" was replaced with "time".On page 261, an extra single quotation mark after "no love from those above...." was removed.On page 267, a period was added after "he had brought from Italy".On page 290, the comma was removed after "I can't even think".On page 290, a comma was added after "in somewhat triumphant tones".On page 291, a period was added after "everyone will be on his side".On page 304, "re-recital" was replaced with "recital".On page 304, "how dare you" was replaced with "How dare you".On page 312, "enlightment" was replaced with "enlightenment".On page 350, the period after "he said" was replaced with a comman.On page 359, "clutching it at" was replaced with "clutching at it".
Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted.
On page 5, a period was added after "rendered it congenial enough".
On page 13, a period was added after "ingratiate herself into his regard".
On page 19, "hiterto" was replaced with "hitherto".
On page 26, the single quotation mark before "Cold now" was replaced with a double quotation mark.
On page 27, a period was added after "rendered it congenial enough".
On page 30, "hiterto" was replaced with "hitherto".
On page 96, a period was added after "and entering, ordered something to eat".
On page 98, "but he did look as" was replaced with "but she did look as".
On page 102, "desplay" was replaced with "display".
On page 108, "find" was replaced with "fine".
On page 109, "mangeresses" was replaced with "manageresses".
On page 114, the quotation mark was removed after "conceal the true state of affairs".
On page 121, a period was added after "to my way o' thinking, miss".
On page 143, "comgenial" was replaced with "congenial".
On page 159, a quotation mark was added after "Caledonia's Bard".
On page 173, a single quotation mark was replaced with a double quotation mark.
On page 181, a single quotation mark was replaced with a double quotation mark.
On page 190, a period was added after "the extent of this debt of gratitude".
On page 192, a single quotation mark was replaced with a double quotation mark.
On page 195, "somethimg" was replaced with "something".
On page 195, a quotation mark was added after "I am so pleased about it."
On page 225, "h:s" was replaced with "his".
On page 243, "under-its" was replaced with "under its".
On page 259, "t me" was replaced with "time".
On page 261, an extra single quotation mark after "no love from those above...." was removed.
On page 267, a period was added after "he had brought from Italy".
On page 290, the comma was removed after "I can't even think".
On page 290, a comma was added after "in somewhat triumphant tones".
On page 291, a period was added after "everyone will be on his side".
On page 304, "re-recital" was replaced with "recital".
On page 304, "how dare you" was replaced with "How dare you".
On page 312, "enlightment" was replaced with "enlightenment".
On page 350, the period after "he said" was replaced with a comman.
On page 359, "clutching it at" was replaced with "clutching at it".