Hobart says that it is why I am to write it. It is to be a plain
narrative. Besides, he is very busy and cannot do it himself. There must
be some record. I shall do my best and hold out of my writing as much as
I can of my emotion. I shall start with the Nervina.
It was the first I knew; the first warning. Looking back I cannot but
wonder. No person I think who has ever seen the Nervina can do much
else; she is so beautiful! Beautiful? Why do I say it? I should be
jealous and I should hate her. Yet I do not. Why is it?
It was about eight months after Hobart had left for South America. I
remember those eight months as the longest in my life; because of Harry.
I am a girl and I like attention; all girls do. Ordinarily he would come
over every fortnight at least. After Hobart had gone he came once only,
and of course I resented the inattention.
It seemed to me that no business could be of enough importance if he
really loved me. Even his letters were few and far between. What he
wrote were slow and weary and of an undertone that I could not fathom.
I--loved Harry. I could not understand it. I had a thousand fearful
thoughts and jealousies; but they were feminine and in no way
approximated even the beginning of the truth. Inattention was not like
Harry. It was not until the coming of the Nervina that I was afraid.
Afraid? I will not say that--exactly. It was rather a suspicion, a queer
undercurrent of wonder and doubt. The beauty of the girl, her interest
in Harry and myself, her concern over this ring, put me a bit on guard.
I wondered what this ring had to do with Harry Wendel.
She did not tell me in exact words or in literal explanation; but she
managed to convey all too well a lurking impression of its sinister
potency. It was something baleful, something the very essence of which
would break down the life of one who wore it. Harry had come into its
possession by accident and she would save him. She had failed through
direct appeal. Now she had come to me. She did not say a word of the
Blind Spot.
And the next day came Harry. It was really a shock, though I had been
warned by the girl. He was not Harry at all, but another. His eyes were
dim and they had lost their lustre; when they did show light at all,
it was a kind that was a bit fearful. He was wan, worn, and shrunk to a
shadow, as if he had gone through a long illness.
He said he had not been sick. He maintained that he was quite well
physically. And on his finger was the ring of which the girl had spoken.
Its value must have been incalculable. Wherever he moved his hand its
blue flame cut a path through the darkness. But he said nothing about
it. I waited and wondered and was afraid. It was not until our walk
under the elm trees that it was mentioned.
It was a full moon; a wonderful, mellow moon of summer. He stopped
suddenly and gazed up at the orb above us. It seemed to me that his
mind was wandering, he held me closely--tenderly. He was not at all
like Harry. There was a missing of self, of individuality; he spoke in
abstractions.
“The maiden of the moonbeams?” he said. “What can it mean?”
And then I asked him. He has already told of our conversation. It was
the ring of which the Nervina had told me. It had to do with the Blind
Spot--the great secret that had taken Dr. Holcomb. He would not give it
to me. I worked hard, for even then I was not afraid of it. Something
told me--I must do it to save him. It was weird, and something I could
not understand--but I must do it for Harry.
I failed. Though he was broken in every visible way there was one thing
as strong as ever--his honour. He was not afraid; he had been the same
in his boyhood. When we parted that night he kissed me. I shall never
forget how long he looked into my eyes, nor his sadness. That is all.
The next morning he left for San Francisco.
And then came the end. A message; abrupt and sudden. It was some time
after and put a period to my increasing stress and worry. It read:
CITY OF PERU DOCKS TONIGHT AT EIGHT. MEET ME AT THE PIER. HOBART
COMING,--HARRY.
It was a short message and a bit twisted. In ordinary circumstances he
would have motored down and brought me back to greet Hobart. It was a
bit strange that I should meet him at the pier. However, I had barely
time to get to the city if I hurried.