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!"