Daily the problem grew more puzzling.
The fusing of the crucifix and the carved medallion of the Madonna were
clearly due to the presence of the mysterious Aline, the beautiful woman
who had warned me against the strange evil she exerted over those with
whom she came in contact. Such occurrences seemed supernatural; yet so
curious were her words and actions, and so peculiar and impressive her
beauty, that I could not help doubting whether she actually existed in
flesh and blood, or only in some bright vision that had come to hold me
in fascination. Yet Simes had seen her, and had spoken with her. There
was therefore no doubt that she was a living person, even though she
might be a sorceress.
Nevertheless, they were something more than mere conjuring feats which
caused the sacred objects in my room to spontaneously consume in her
presence. Had she not told me plainly that evil followed in her
footsteps? Did not these two inexplicable events fully bear out her
words?
I called Simes, and when I showed him the Madonna he stood glaring at it
as one terrified.
"I don't like that lady, sir," he exclaimed, glancing at me.
"Why not?"
"Well, sir, pardon me for saying so, but I believe she can work the evil
of the very Devil himself."
That was exactly my own opinion; therefore I preserved silence.
As lover of a woman possessed of a mysterious influence, the like of
which I had never before heard, my position was certainly an unique one.
In the days which followed I tried to argue with myself that I did not
love her; to convince myself that what she had alleged was true, namely,
that I admired but did not love her. Yet all was in vain. I was
fascinated by her large blue eyes, which looked out upon me with that
calm, childlike innocence, and remaining beneath their spell, believed
that I loved her.
The mystery with which she had surrounded herself was remarkable. Her
refusal to allow me to call upon her, or even to write, was strange, yet
her excuse that her aunt would be annoyed was plausible enough.
Compelled, therefore, to await her visit, I remained from day to day
anxious to meet her because I loved her.
On entering the club one afternoon I found Roddy alone in the
smoking-room, writing a letter.
"Well!" he cried, merrily, gripping my hand. "How goes it--and how's
your little mystery going on?"