Arthur wished to set about the invocation then and there, but Dr
Porhoët said it was impossible. They were all exhausted after the long
journey, and it was necessary to get certain things together without
which nothing could be done. In his heart he thought that a night’s
rest would bring Arthur to a more reasonable mind. When the light of
day shone upon the earth he would be ashamed of the desire which ran
counter to all his prepossessions. But Arthur remembered that on the
next day it would be exactly a week since Margaret’s death, and it
seemed to him that then their spells might have a greater efficacy.
When they came down in the morning and greeted one another, it was
plain that none of them had slept.
“Are you still of the same purpose as last night?” asked Dr Porhoët
gravely.
“I am.”
The doctor hesitated nervously.
“It will be necessary, if you wish to follow out the rules of the old
necromancers, to fast through the whole day.”
“I am ready to do anything.”
“It will be no hardship to me,” said Susie, with a little hysterical
laugh. “I feel I couldn’t eat a thing if I tried.”
“I think the whole affair is sheer folly,” said Dr Porhoët.
“You promised me you would try.”
The day, the long summer day, passed slowly. There was a hard
brilliancy in the sky that reminded the Frenchman of those Egyptian
heavens when the earth seemed crushed beneath a bowl of molten fire.
Arthur was too restless to remain indoors and left the others to their
own devices. He walked without aim, as fast as he could go; he felt no
weariness. The burning sun beat down upon him, but he did not know it.
The hours passed with lagging feet. Susie lay on her bed and tried to
read. Her nerves were so taut that, when there was a sound in the
courtyard of a pail falling on the cobbles, she cried out in terror.
The sun rose, and presently her window was flooded with quivering rays
of gold. It was midday. The day passed, and it was afternoon. The
evening came, but it brought no freshness. Meanwhile Dr Porhoët sat in
the little parlour, with his head between his hands, trying by a great
mental effort to bring back to his memory all that he had read. His
heart began to beat more quickly. Then the night fell, and one by one
the stars shone out. There was no wind. The air was heavy. Susie came
downstairs and began to talk with Dr Porhoët. But they spoke in a low
tone, as if they were afraid that someone would overhear. They were
faint now with want of food. The hours went one by one, and the
striking of a clock filled them each time with a mysterious
apprehension. The lights in the village were put out little by little,
and everybody slept. Susie had lighted the lamp, and they watched
beside it. A cold shiver passed through her.
“I feel as though someone were lying dead in the room,” she said.
“Why does not Arthur come?”
They spoke inconsequently, and neither heeded what the other said. The
window was wide open, but the air was difficult to breathe. And now the
silence was so unusual that Susie grew strangely nervous. She tried to
think of the noisy streets in Paris, the constant roar of traffic, and
the shuffling of the crowds toward evening as the work people returned
to their homes. She stood up.
“There’s no air tonight. Look at the trees. Not a leaf is moving.”
“Why does not Arthur come?” repeated the doctor.
“There’s no moon tonight. It will be very dark at Skene.”
“He’s walked all day. He should be here by now.”
Susie felt an extraordinary oppression, and she panted for breath. At
last they heard a step on the road outside, and Arthur stood at the
window.
“Are you ready to come?” he said.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
They joined him, bringing the few things that Dr Porhoët had said were
necessary, and they walked along the solitary road that led to Skene.
On each side the heather stretched into the dark night, and there was a
blackness about it that was ominous. There was no sound save that of
their own steps. Dimly, under the stars, they saw the desolation with
which they were surrounded. The way seemed very long. They were utterly
exhausted, and they could hardly drag one foot after the other.
“You must let me rest for a minute,” said Susie.
They did not answer, but stopped, and she sat on a boulder by the
wayside. They stood motionless in front of her, waiting patiently till
she was ready. After a little while she forced herself to get up.
“Now I can go,” she said.
Still they did not speak, but walked on. They moved like figures in a
dream, with a stealthy directness, as though they acted under the
influence of another’s will. Suddenly the road stopped, and they found
themselves at the gates of Skene.
“Follow me very closely,” said Arthur.
He turned on one side, and they followed a paling. Susie could feel
that they walked along a narrow path. She could see hardly two steps in
front of her. At last he stood still.
“I came here earlier in the night and made the opening easier to get
through.”
He turned back a broken piece of railing and slipped in. Susie
followed, and Dr Porhoët entered after her.
“I can see nothing,” said Susie.
“Give me your hand, and I will lead you.”
They walked with difficulty through the tangled bracken, among closely
planted trees. They stumbled, and once Dr Porhoët fell. It seemed that
they went a long way. Susie’s heart beat fast with anxiety. All her
weariness was forgotten.
Then Arthur stopped them, and he pointed in front of him. Through an
opening in the trees, they saw the house. All the windows were dark
except those just under the roof, and from them came bright lights.
“Those are the attics which he uses as a laboratory. You see, he is
working now. There is no one else in the house.”
Susie was curiously fascinated by the flaming lights. There was an
awful mystery in those unknown labours which absorbed Oliver Haddo
night after night till the sun rose. What horrible things were done
there, hidden from the eyes of men? By himself in that vast house the
madman performed ghastly experiments; and who could tell what dark
secrets he trafficked in?
“There is no danger that he will come out,” said Arthur. “He remains
there till the break of day.”
He took her hand again and led her on. Back they went among the trees,
and presently they were on a pathway. They walked along with greater
safety.
“Are you all right, Porhoët?” asked Arthur.
“Yes.”
But the trees grew thicker and the night more sombre. Now the stars
were shut out, and they could hardly see in front of them.
“Here we are,” said Arthur.
They stopped, and found that there was in front of them a green space
formed by four cross-ways. In the middle a stone bench gleamed vaguely
against the darkness.
“This is where Margaret sat when last I saw her.”
“I can see to do nothing here,” said the doctor.
They had brought two flat bowls of brass to serve as censers, and these
Arthur gave to Dr Porhoët. He stood by Susie’s side while the doctor
busied himself with his preparations. They saw him move to and fro.
They saw him bend to the ground. Presently there was a crackling of
wood, and from the brazen bowls red flames shot up. They did not know
what he burnt, but there were heavy clouds of smoke, and a strong,
aromatic odour filled the air. Now and again the doctor was sharply
silhouetted against the light. His slight, bowed figure was singularly
mysterious. When Susie caught sight of his face, she saw that it was
touched with a strong emotion. The work he was at affected him so that
his doubts, his fears, had vanished. He looked like some old alchemist
busied with unnatural things. Susie’s heart began to beat painfully.
She was growing desperately frightened and stretched out her hand so
that she might touch Arthur. Silently he put his arm through hers. And
now the doctor was tracing strange signs upon the ground. The flames
died down and only a glow remained, but he seemed to have no difficulty
in seeing what he was about. Susie could not discern what figures he
drew. Then he put more twigs upon the braziers, and the flames sprang
up once more, cutting the darkness sharply as with a sword.
“Now come,” he said.
But, inexplicably, a sudden terror seized Susie. She felt that the
hairs of her head stood up, and a cold sweat broke out on her body. Her
limbs had grown on an instant inconceivably heavy so that she could not
move. A panic such as she had never known came upon her, and, except
that her legs would not carry her, she would have fled blindly. She
began to tremble. She tried to speak, but her tongue clave to her
throat.
“I can’t, I’m afraid,” she muttered hoarsely.
“You must. Without you we can do nothing,” said Arthur.
She could not reason with herself. She had forgotten everything except
that she was frightened to death. Her heart was beating so quickly that
she almost fainted. And now Arthur held her, so firmly that she winced.
“Let me go,” she whispered. “I won’t help you. I’m afraid.”
“You must,” he said. “You must.”
“No.”
“I tell you, you must come.”
“Why?”
Her deadly fear expressed itself in a passion of sudden anger.
“Because you love me, and it’s the only way to give me peace.”
She uttered a low wail of pain, and her terror gave way to shame. She
blushed to the roots of her hair because he too knew her secret. And
then she was seized again with anger because he had the cruelty to
taunt her with it. She had recovered her courage now, and she stepped
forward. Dr. Porhoët told her where to stand. Arthur took his place in
front of her.
“You must not move till I give you leave. If you go outside the figure
I have drawn, I cannot protect you.”
For a moment Dr Porhoët stood in perfect silence. Then he began to
recite strange words in Latin. Susie heard him but vaguely. She did not
know the sense, and his voice was so low that she could not have
distinguished the words. But his intonation had lost that gentle irony
which was habitual to him, and he spoke with a trembling gravity that
was extraordinarily impressive. Arthur stood immobile as a rock. The
flames died away, and they saw one another only by the glow of the
ashes, dimly, like persons in a vision of death. There was silence.
Then the necromancer spoke again, and now his voice was louder. He
seemed to utter weird invocations, but they were in a tongue that the
others knew not. And while he spoke the light from the burning cinders
on a sudden went out.
It did not die, but was sharply extinguished, as though by invisible
hands. And now the darkness was more sombre than that of the blackest
night. The trees that surrounded them were hidden from their eyes, and
the whiteness of the stone bench was seen no longer. They stood but a
little way one from the other, but each might have stood alone. Susie
strained her eyes, but she could see nothing. She looked up quickly;
the stars were gone out, and she could see no further over her head
than round about. The darkness was terrifying. And from it, Dr
Porhoët’s voice had a ghastly effect. It seemed to come, wonderfully
changed, from the void of bottomless chaos. Susie clenched her hands so
that she might not faint.
All at once she started, for the old man’s voice was cut by a sudden
gust of wind. A moment before, the utter silence had been almost
intolerable, and now a storm seemed to have fallen upon them. The trees
all around them rocked in the wind; they heard the branches creak; and
they heard the hissing of the leaves. They were in the midst of a
hurricane. And they felt the earth sway as it resisted the straining
roots of great trees, which seemed to be dragged up by the force of the
furious gale. Whistling and roaring, the wind stormed all about them,
and the doctor, raising his voice, tried in vain to command it. But the
strangest thing of all was that, where they stood, there was no sign of
the raging blast. The air immediately about them was as still as it had
been before, and not a hair on Susie’s head was moved. And it was
terrible to hear the tumult, and yet to be in a calm that was almost
unnatural.
On a sudden, Dr Porhoët raised his voice, and with a sternness they had
never heard in it before, cried out in that unknown language. Then he
called upon Margaret. He called her name three times. In the uproar
Susie could scarcely hear. Terror had seized her again, but in her
confusion she remembered his command, and she dared not move.
“Margaret, Margaret, Margaret.”
Without a pause between, as quickly as a stone falls to the ground, the
din which was all about them ceased. There was no gradual diminution.
But at one moment there was a roaring hurricane and at the next a
silence so complete that it might have been the silence of death.
And then, seeming to come out of nothingness, extraordinarily, they
heard with a curious distinctness the sound of a woman weeping. Susie’s
heart stood still. They heard the sound of a woman weeping, and they
recognized the voice of Margaret. A groan of anguish burst from
Arthur’s lips, and he was on the point of starting forward. But quickly
Dr Porhoët put out his hand to prevent him. The sound was heartrending,
the sobbing of a woman who had lost all hope, the sobbing of a woman
terrified. If Susie had been able to stir, she would have put her hands
to her ears to shut out the ghastly agony of it.
And in a moment, notwithstanding the heavy darkness of the starless
night, Arthur saw her. She was seated on the stone bench as when last
he had spoken with her. In her anguish she sought not to hide her face.
She looked at the ground, and the tears fell down her cheeks. Her bosom
heaved with the pain of her weeping.
Then Arthur knew that all his suspicions were justified.