"I say the Devil will get you all safe enough some day," he repeated.
I rose to retire in as dignified a manner as possible, but he was before
me and closed the door. I began to be genuinely frightened.
"For God's sake, don't go!" he cried. "Don't leave me alone. Do sit
down, Oliphant, like a good chap, and I promise to hold my tongue. You
don't know how horrible it is to be left alone."
I sat down again, though my composure was shaken. I remembered Mr Grey's
words about the strange sickness.
Then Mr Ladlaw fell into an extraordinary moodiness. He sat huddled up
in his chair, his face turned away from me, and for some time neither of
us spoke a word. I thought that I had seriously offended him, and
prepared to apologise, so I touched his left shoulder to attract his
attention. Instantly he jumped to his feet, screaming, and turned on me
a face of utter terror. I could do nothing but stare at him, and in a
second he quieted down and returned to his seat.
Then he became partially sane, and murmured a sort of excuse. I thought
that I would discover what truth lay in Mr Grey's singular hypothesis. I
did not ask him bluntly, as an ordinary man would have done, what was
his malady, but tactfully, as I thought then, I led the conversation to
demoniacal possession in the olden time, and quoted Pellinger's theory
on the Scriptural cases. He answered with extraordinary vehemence,
showing a childish credulity I little expected from an educated man.
"I see that you hold to the old interpretation," I said pleasantly.
"Nowadays, we tend to find the solution in natural causes."
"Heavens, man!" he cried. "What do you mean by natural? You haven't the
most rudimentary knowledge of nature. Listen to me, and I will tell you
something."
And with this he began a long rambling account of something which I
could not understand. He talked much about a name which sounded like
Canaan, and then he wandered to another subject and talked about
Proserpina, whom I remembered from Mr Matthew Arnold's poem. I would
have thought him trying to ridicule me, if I had not seen his face,
which was white and drawn with pain; and, again, I would have thought
him drunk, but for his well-known temperate habits. By-and-by even my
nerves, which are very strong, began to suffer. I understood fragments
of his talk, and the understanding did not reassure me. It was poisonous
nonsense, but it had a terrible air of realism. He had a queer habit of
catching at his heart like a man with the heart disease, and his eyes
were like a mad dog's I once saw, the pupil drawn to a pin-point with
fear. I could not bear it, so I tried to break the spell. I offered,
against my conscience, to play a card game, but his face showed that he
did not understand me. I began to feel a sort of languor of terror. I
could hardly rise from my chair, and when at last I got up the whole
room seemed haunted. I rushed to the bell and rang it violently, and
then tried to open the door. But he was before me again, and gripped my
arm so fiercely that I cried out between the pain and my dread of him.
"Come back!" he cried hoarsely. "Don't leave me alone. For God's sake,
Oliphant!"
Just then the man-servant opened the door, and found the two of us
standing like lunatics. I had the sense to save the situation, and I
asked him to bring more coals for the fire. Then as soon as he turned to
go, I stepped out of the open door before Mr Ladlaw could prevent me.
The hall seemed empty, but to my surprise I found Mrs Ladlaw sleeping
in a chair by the fire. I did not like to waken her, but I was at my
wits' end with fright. If I had known the way to the kitchen, I should
have sought the servants' company. I ran down a passage, but it seemed
to end in a blind wall, and in a great fear I turned and ran upstairs.
But the upper lobbies seemed to be unlit, and I was turning back when I
heard Ladlaw's voice behind me. It was muffled and queer, and the sound
drove me into the darkness. When I turned a corner, to my relief I saw a
lamp burning on a table and recognised my bedroom door. Here was
sanctuary at last, and I ran in and shut it behind me.
My nerves were so shaken by the evening's performances that I found it
impossible to get to sleep. I sat up the better part of the night by the
fire, and smoked several cigarettes, which in ordinary circumstances I
should never have dared to do in a strange bedroom. About four o'clock,
I think, I dozed off in my chair, and awoke about nine, very stiff and
cold, to find Ladlaw laughing at me in the doorway.
I was at first so confused that I did not remember what had scared me
the night before. Then, as it came back to me, I was amazed at my
host's appearance. He looked fresh and well, and in excellent spirits.
He laughed immoderately when he found I had not gone to bed.
"You do look cheap," he said. "Breakfast's in half an hour. You will
feel better when you have had a tub."
I bathed reluctantly, feeling ill and bitterly cold; but I was comforted
by a good breakfast. Then I had an opportunity of talking to Mrs Ladlaw.
As I remembered her, she had been full of gaiety, and even, I thought, a
little frivolous; but now she was so pale and silent that I pitied her
sincerely. I began to feel an intense dislike of her husband, partly for
the fright he had given me the night before, and partly for the effect
his silliness seemed to be having on his wife. The day was a fine one,
but after breakfast he showed no intention of going out. I expected to
be asked to shoot, a sport which I sometimes try; but he never spoke of
it, and insisted on my coming to the billiard-room. As we were leaving
the table Mrs Ladlaw touched my arm, and asked me in a low tone if I
would promise to stay all day with her husband. "I want to go down to
Morefoot," she said, "and you know he cannot be left alone." I promised
willingly, for in the daylight Mr Ladlaw had no terrors for me. I
thought that Mrs Ladlaw looked relieved. Poor thing! she badly needed a
respite.
We hung aimlessly about the place till lunch, playing a few games of
billiards, and in the intervals looking at stables and harness-rooms and
the now barren gardens. At lunch Mrs Ladlaw appeared, but immediately
after I heard wheels on the gravel and knew that she had gone to
Morefoot. Then I began to feel nervous again. I was the only responsible
person left in the place, and Mr Ladlaw might at any moment relapse into
craziness. I watched his moods anxiously, and talked all the nonsense I
knew to keep him in good humour. I told him stories, I talked wildly of
sport, I made ridiculous jokes at which I felt myself blushing. At first
he seemed amused, but soon I felt that my words were falling on deaf
ears. He himself began to talk, violently, incessantly, and, I may say,
brilliantly. If my memory had been better and my balance less upset, I
might have made my reputation, though it would have been a reputation,
perhaps, that a minister of the Gospel might well look askance at. I
could have written a terrible romance from that man's babbling. Nay, I
could have done more: I could have composed a new philosophy which would
have cast Nietzsche in the shade for ever. I do not wish to exaggerate,
but I have never been so impressed with a sense of a crazy intellectual
acumen. This Mr Ladlaw, whom I had known as a good landlord and a
respectable country gentleman, now appeared as a kind of horrible
genius, a brilliant and malignant satyr. I was shocked and confounded,
and at the same time filled with admiration. I remember that we passed
through the dining-room, where there was a great marble bust of a Roman
emperor, an old discoloured thing, but wonderful in its way. Mr Ladlaw
stopped before it and pointed out its merits. The thing seemed simple
enough, and yet after the description I fled from it as if it had been a
devil. He followed me, still talking, and we found ourselves in the
library.
I remember that I suggested tea, but he scarcely heeded me. The darkness
was falling, Mrs Ladlaw had not returned, and I felt horribly
uncomfortable. I tried to draw him away from the room which I feared,
but he made no sign of understanding. I perceived that the malady of the
last night was returning. I hated that library, with its low fire, its
ghastly white books, and its dreary outlook. I picked up one volume,
and it was lettered on the back 'Sancti Adelberti Certamina.' I dropped
it, only to feel Mr Ladlaw clutching my right arm and dragging me to one
of those horrible arm-chairs.
"The night is coming on, the old Nox Atra that the monks dreaded.
Promise me that you won't go away."
I promised feebly, and prayed for Mrs Ladlaw's return. I suggested that
the lamps should be lit. He rose and tried to light the hanging central
one, and I noticed how his hands trembled. His awkwardness upset the
thing, and it fell with a crash on the floor. He jumped back with a
curious scream like an animal.
I was so miserably scared that I had not the heart to do the work for
him, so we sat on in the darkness. Any sound from the out-of-doors would
have comforted me, but the whole world was as silent as death. I felt
that a little more would drive me mad, and the thought roused me to make
a final effort after safety. In spite of all my promises I must get
away. A man's first duty was to himself, and the hour had come for me. I
thought with longing of my little bare manse and my solemn housekeeper.
And yet how was I to escape, for this man was the stronger, and he
would never let me go.
I begged him to come into the hall, but he refused. Then I became very
cunning. I suggested that we should go to the door and receive Mrs
Ladlaw. He did not know that she had gone, and the news made him so
nervous that he accepted my proposal. He caught my arm as before, and,
leaning heavily upon me, went into the hall. There was no one about, and
the fire had died down; but at the far end there was a pale glimmer from
the glass door. We opened it and stood on the top step, looking over the
dark lawns. Now was the time for an effort for freedom. If I could only
get rid of his hand I might escape across the fields. I believed him to
be too weak on his legs to follow me, and in any case I was a
respectable runner. Out of doors he seemed less formidable: it was only
in that haunted room that I shuddered.
I took the only way of escape which presented itself. There was a
flowering-shrub in a pot on the top of the parapet. I caught this with
my elbow and knocked it over, so that it broke with a clatter on the
stone. As I expected, he screamed and jumped aside, letting go my arm
for one instant. The next I was down the steps and running hard across
the lawns to the park beyond.
For a little I heard him stumbling after me, breathing heavily and with
little short cries. I ran with the speed of fear, for till I was within
my own doors I could feel no security. Once I turned and there he was, a
field behind me, running with his head down like a blind dog. I skirted
the village, broke through the little fir plantation, and came out on
the highway. I saw the light from Jean's little window, and it was like
a beacon of hope. In a few minutes I was at the door, and my servant
stared as I rushed in, without hat or overcoat, and wet with
perspiration. I insisted on barring the doors, and bolting and
shuttering every window. Then I had the unusual luxury of a fire in my
bedroom, and there I supped, and sat till I fell asleep.
_End of Mr Oliphant's Statement_