It was a curious establishment over which Sybil found herself called
upon to preside. The native, Beelzebub, was her only domestic, and, as
Mercer had predicted, she found him very willing if not always
efficient. One thing she speedily discovered regarding him. He went in
deadly fear of his master, and invariably crept about like a whipped
cur in his presence.
"Why is it?" she said to Curtis once.
But Curtis only shrugged his shoulders in reply.
He was a continual puzzle to her, this man. There was no servility about
him, but she had a feeling that he, too, was in some fashion under
Mercer's heel. He made himself exceedingly useful to her in his silent,
unobtrusive way; but he seldom spoke on his own initiative, and it was
some time before she felt herself to be on terms of intimacy with him.
He was an excellent cook; and he and Beelzebub between them made her
duties remarkably light. In fact, she spent most of her time riding with
her husband, who was fully occupied just then in overlooking the
shearers' work. She also was keenly interested, but he never suffered
her to go among the men. Once, when she had grown tired of waiting for
him, and followed him into one of the sheds, he was actually angry with
her--a new experience, which, if it did not seriously scare her, made
her nervous in his presence for some time afterwards.
She had come to regard him as a man whose will was bound to be
respected, a man who possessed the power of impressing his personality
indelibly upon all with whom he came in contact. There were times when
he touched and set vibrating the very pulse of her being, times when her
heart quivered and expanded in the heat of his passion as a flower that
opens to the sun. But there were also times when he filled her with a
nameless dread, when the very foundations of her confidence were shaken,
and she felt as a prisoner behind iron bars. She did not know him, that
was her trouble. There were in him depths that she could not reach,
could scarcely even realize. He was slow to reveal himself to her, and
she had but the vaguest indications to guide her. She even felt
sometimes that he deliberately kept back from her that which she felt to
be almost the essential part of him. This she knew that time must
remedy. Living his life, she was bound ultimately to know whereof he was
made, and she tried to assure herself that when that knowledge came to
her she would not be dismayed. And yet she had occasional glimpses of
him that made her tremble.
One evening, after they had spent the entire day in the saddle, he went
after supper to look at one of the horses that was suffering from a
cracked hock. Curtis was busy in the kitchen, and Sybil betook herself
to the step to wait for her husband. She often sat in the starlight
while he smoked his pipe. She knew that he liked to have her there.
She was drowsy after her long exercise, and must have dozed with her
head against the door-post, when suddenly she became conscious of a
curious sound. It came from the direction of the stable which was on the
other side of the house. But for the absolute stillness of the night she
would not have heard it. She started upright in alarm, and listened
intently.
It came again--a terrible wailing, unlike anything she had ever heard,
ending in a staccato shriek that made her blood run cold.
She sprang up and turned into the house, almost running into Curtis, who
had just appeared in the passage behind her.
"Oh, what is it?" she cried. "What is it? Something terrible is
happening! Did you hear?"
She would have turned into the kitchen, that being the shortest route to
the stable, but he stretched an arm in front of her.
"I shouldn't go if I were you," he said. "You can't do any good."
She stood and stared at him, a ghastly fear clutching her heart.
"What--what do you mean?" she gasped.
"It's only Beelzebub," he said, "getting hammered for his sins."
She gripped her hands tightly over her breast. "You mean that--that my
husband--?"
He nodded. "It won't go on much longer. I should go to bed if I were
you."
He meant it kindly, but the words sounded to her most hideously callous.
She turned from him, sobbing hysterically, and sprang for the open door.
The next moment she was running swiftly round the house to the stable.
Turning the corner, she heard a sound like a pistol-shot. It was
followed instantly by a scream so utterly inhuman that even then she
almost wheeled and fled. But she mastered the impulse. She reached the
stable-door, fumbled at the latch, finally burst inwards as it swung
open.
A lantern hung on a nail immediately within. By its light she discovered
her husband--a gigantic figure--towering over something she could not
see, something that crouched, writhing and moaning, in a corner. He was
armed with a horsewhip, and even as she entered she saw him raise it and
bring it downwards with a horrible precision upon the thing at his feet.
She heard again that awful shriek of anguish, and a sick shudder went
through her. Unconsciously, a cry broke from her own lips, and, as
Mercer's arm went up again, she flung herself forward and tried to catch
it.
In her agitation she failed. The heavy end of the whip fell upon her
outstretched arm, numbing; it to the shoulder. She heard Mercer utter a
frightful oath, and with a gasp she fell.