"I'm not afraid any more. She has promised me----"
But what Helene had promised I was not to know, for Wrexler's mouth shut
with a snap. When I pressed him, he shook his head. Finally he said,
carefully choosing his words with a reluctance that was strange to him:
"To me is to be granted something beyond the knowledge of mortal man. I
can tell you no more, but some day you will know." There was an
expression on his face that transcended earth.
The next night I spoke to de Lacy and told him my fears. Wrexler was
spending more and more time in the rose garden. I hardly saw him, and he
would not discuss anything with me. Even at the stately, elegantly
served meals, he barely spoke. He always seemed to be listening,
waiting.
De Lacy shared my fears, but he suggested nothing to help. "He has been
marked, my lord," he said gravely. "We can only pray. But even in
prayers there is no refuge, for Helene is beyond such things."
"Surely----" I began to remonstrate.
"The power of evil is as strong as the power of good, or at least there
is little between them. Helene herself is bound fast by hate of Black
George."
Curses live, I knew that--witness the lasting quality of the curses and
spells of the Egyptian priests. But Helene was not evil. I said as much.
De Lacy shook his head. "She is cut off from her lover. She does not
feel kindly toward men. Remember she promised vengeance century after
century, that day in the great hall."
That night in the silence of my chamber I called her name. "Helene!
Helene!" I flung my agonized summons into the night, but there was no
answer.
I went over in my mind the tales de Lacy had told me of the havoc she
had caused; how one man had cast himself down from the highest turret,
crying her name; how another had been found dead in the rose garden,
horror frozen on his face. There were still others who had looked upon
her, and death or madness came as the result.
The more I thought of these tales of terror, the more I feared for
Wrexler. At last I could stand no more. I thrust my arms into the rich
velvet robe that had taken the place of my bath gown, and went to
Wrexler's room. The guards stood back to let me pass.
* * * * *
I did not mean to wake him, but some inner foreboding made me feel I
must know that he was safe.
As I drew aside the curtains of his bed, I could not entirely stifle the
cry that came to my lips, for the bed was empty. But upon the pillow lay
a small, white rose. It was the kind they use in funeral wreaths in
France. My heart almost stopped beating.
The rose garden!--or perhaps the library. A more normal thought struck
me. Wrexler might have wanted to read. I rushed into the hall, to find
de Lacy waiting for me, summoned by the guards. He held a silver
candle-stick in which a tall, white candle burned.
"The library!" I gasped. That was nearest, we should try it first. De
Lacy knew my meaning. He had instantly grasped the situation and his
face was white and tense.
Together we descended the curving stairway. Together we reached the
library. Then, motioning de Lacy behind me, I swung open the door.
The room was brightly illuminated, although not one of the candles had
been lit. In the middle of it stood Wrexler, with Helene in his arms.
Their lips were close-locked.
It was a picture that an artist would have delighted to paint: the
stiff, crimson skirts of Helene d'Harcourt's gown stood wide on either
side, and Wrexler's blue doublet and hose against them was in bold
relief. His long over-sleeves edged with fur hung gracefully.
I could not speak. This mating of man with ghost was almost more than my
poor mortal brain could bear, yet with every atom of my being I wished
that I could have been in Wrexler's place. I remembered the one chaste
kiss I had had from her, and I almost fainted at the thought of
possessing those lips for my own, as Wrexler was doing. Strangely
enough, mingling with this emotion was another--a feeling of fear and
anxiety for my friend. Cold horror that froze my blood kept me rooted to
the spot.
Behind me de Lacy had fallen to his knees. I could hear him repeating
the Latin words of a prayer. All at once I saw where the light was
coming from. The entire north wall, ordinarily lined with books, had
gone. In its stead was a stone wall, and in the center of the wall was a
low-hung Gothic door, carved and ornate. It was standing open, and
beyond was a pale, luminous yellow mist. I could see nothing of what
else was beyond the door, for the yellow haze filled the entire space.
It was like a golden fog, and its radiance lighted the library with a
strange, unearthly glow. Its luminosity glowed upon Helene and Wrexler
like a spotlight.
For a moment I thought Rougemont, de Lacy, everything of the past weeks,
must have been a dream and that I was watching a cinema of past days.
All at once, before my astonished eyes Helene gently drew her lips away
from Wrexler's. She slipped from his arms and extended her hands to him.
"Come," I heard her say.
Wrexler had been right: her voice was like golden honey. It was like the
music of willow trees in early spring. Wrexler grasped her hands. For
the first time I saw his face. Joy transfigured it, such joy as I have
never seen before, and never shall see again.
Helene moved backward, slowly but surely, drawing him toward the little
Gothic door that stood open. With her soft lips half parted, she
whispered, "Come."
"Wrexler," I cried suddenly.
He did not hear me. As he looked into her eyes, he might have been a
bird charmed by a snake. Nothing could break through the spell that
bound him.
They were nearer the door. Each second brought them closer to it. Now
Helene was on the other side. The golden mist concentrated upon her,
until she looked like a goddess in its eery light.
"Wrexler! Wrexler!" The words tore through my throat.
Wrexler stepped over the threshold. Through the golden mist I saw him
clasp Helene in his arms again. I saw her smile triumphantly at me, as
she raised her lips to his. There was something in her eyes that filled
me with horror.
The mist swirled about them until I could barely discover the outlines
of their figures through its gleaming haze. Then the door swung slowly
shut.
I awoke to feverish activity. "Wrexler! Wrexler!" I shouted and rushed
forward to the door.
I grasped the iron ring that hung in its center. I pulled on it with all
my might. When I found that it resisted all my efforts I began beating
against the door itself. Presently I felt myself being pulled away.
"There is no use, my lord," de Lacy's voice was saying. "The door is
gone."
"Gone!" I ejaculated, and even as I spoke I saw what he meant. The north
wall of the library was lined with books as it always had been. I had
been beating upon them impotently.
I looked down at my hands; the knuckles were raw and bleeding, just as
they would have been from pounding on a heavily carved wooden door. De
Lacy caught my meaning. "The door was there, my lord. It was the lost
door--the door behind which Black George buried Helene d'Harcourt. It
had been lost for centuries."
I sank into a chair, weakly, for now the fact that I had lost Wrexler,
my friend, was paramount. "I will tear down the walls until I find it."
"That has been done, my lord, and it has never been found. It will never
be found again. Only for a brief moment you and I have been granted a
glimpse of something we can not understand."
"And Wrexler----" I groaned.
"He was happy," de Lacy comforted. "No matter what happened after, he
has had happiness such as I have never seen before."
My head pitched forward and I knew no more.
* * * * *
Three days later, I was escorted to the library by de Lacy, to whom
since Wrexler's loss I was more devoted than ever. With great ceremony I
was given the key to the gilded casket, then left alone.
Seated in the great chair before the oaken table, I unlocked the casket.
It contained many pages closely written in my father's hand. In them
were instructions as to my future conduct, my care of Rougemont, what he
had done and what he expected me to do. But the lines that interested me
most were these:
"_I bought Rougemont for your mother, shortly after your birth, because
when riding through this country, she saw and loved it. It was a
purchase that cost me dear. For Rougemont held a curse and an avenging
spirit in the form of a beautiful young girl who could not bear to see
others' happiness. So my wife died._
"_Two months after your mother's death, I first saw la belle Helene. We
fought a long battle, she and I, but I was strong, my son, because I
loved your mother. No other woman's charms could lure me to my doom.
Finally I made a bargain with a ghost._
"_She hated modern things and longed for Rougemont to be great again. I
promised to restore the chateau to its former splendor, to make it just
as it had been in her days, and in return she promised immunity to me,
and afterward to you, and to all my court when I should have established
it._
"_I restored Rougemont. I repeopled it. With her help and advice, I have
made it as it was in her own day._
"_She showed me the hidden treasure vaults of the d'Harcourts so that I
would have enough money to purchase the things she wanted._
"_She too has kept her bargain, for I and my court have lived happily
here unmolested. Only when an outsider came or someone disobeyed or
longed for the outside world, has she wreaked vengeance._
"_She has sworn to give you the kiss that promises immunity, the night
you come. Only, beware, my son, whom you bring here from the world you
know, and beware of the lovely Helene. Old man as I am, devoted to your
mother's memory as I am, she can still make my pulses leap._
"_Above all things, if she shows you the Lost Door, do not be tempted to
cross its threshold, for that way, unless you are the reincarnation of
the Englishman, annihilation lies._"
There was more, pages more, of other matters, but I left them for
another day. Alone there in the library, I let my eyes wander to where
the little Gothic door had been.
Had Wrexler been the Englishman come back to earth to claim his bride?
Could that account for the strange, unsatisfied longings he had always
had, his unearthly feelings, his unlikeness to other people? Or was he
Black George, lured back to Rougemont for Helene's vengeance? I hope for
his sake that was not the explanation; that he and Helene would find
bliss waiting for them behind the Lost Door and I would never see Helene
again.
The days pass. I do what my father set out for me to do. I keep his
bargain with the ghost of the fair Helene. I never leave Rougemont. I
have no desire to, for I am always hoping that some day I shall again
find the Lost Door.