The Return Of The Soul Page 10

were grouped together at oneend, near the piano. Margot was among them. She was, as usual, dressedin white, and round the bottom of her gown there was an edging ofsnow-white fur. As we came in, she moved away from the piano to asofa at some distance, and sank down upon it. Professor Black, who hadentered the room at my side, seized my arm gently.

  "Now, that lady," he whispered in my ear--"I don't know who she maybe, but she is intensely cat-like. I observed it before dinner. Did younotice the way she moved just then--the soft, yielding, easy manner inwhich she sat down, falling at once, quite naturally, into a charmingpose? And her china-blue eyes are----"

  "She is my wife, Professor," I interrupted harshly.

  He looked decidedly taken aback.

  "I beg your pardon; I had no idea. I did not enter the drawing-roomto-night till after you arrived. I believed that lady was one ofmy fellow-guests in the house. Let me congratulate you. She is verybeautiful."

  And then he mingled rather hastily in the group near the piano.

  The man is mad, I know--mad as a hatter on one point, like so manyclever men. He sees the animal in every person he meets just because hispreposterous theory inclines him to do so. Having given in his adherenceto it, he sees facts not as they are, but as he wishes them to be; buthe shall not carry me with him. The theory is his, not mine. It does nothold water for a moment. I can laugh at it now, but that night I confessit did seize me for the time being. I could scarcely talk; I foundmyself watching Margot with a terrible intentness, and I found myselfagreeing with the Professor to an extent that made me marvel at my ownprevious blindness.

  There was something strangely feline about the girl I had married--thesoft, white girl who was becoming terrible to me, dear though she stillwas and must always be. Her movements had the subtle, instinctive andcertain grace of a cat's. Her cushioned step, which had often struck mebefore, was like the step of a cat. And those china-blue eyes! A suddencold seemed to pass over me as I understood why I had recognisedthem when I first met Margot. They were the eyes of the animal Ihad tortured, the animal I had killed. Yes, but that proved nothing,absolutely nothing. Many people had the eyes of animals--the soft eyesof dogs, the furtive, cruel eyes of tigers. I had known such people. Ihad even once had an affair with a girl who was always called the shotpartridge, because her eyes were supposed to be like those of a dyingbird. I tried to laugh to myself as I remembered this. But I felt cold,and my senses seemed benumbed as by a great horror. I sat like a stone,with my eyes fixed upon Margot, trying painfully to read into her allthat the words of Professor Black had suggested to me--trying, butwith the wish not to succeed. I was roused by Lady Melchester, who cametoward me asking me to do something, I forget now what. I forced myselfto be cheerful, to join in the conversation, to seem at my ease; but Ifelt like one oppressed with nightmare, and I could scarcely withdrawmy eyes from the sofa where my wife was sitting. She was talking nowto Professor Black, who had just been introduced to her; and I felt asudden fury in my heart as I thought that he was perhaps dryly, coldly,studying her, little knowing what issues--far-reaching, it might be,in their consequences--hung upon the truth or falsehood of his strangetheory. They were talking earnestly, and presently it occurred to methat he might be imbuing Margot with his pernicious doctrines, that hemight be giving her a knowledge of her own soul which now she lacked.The idea was insupportable. I broke off abruptly the conversation inwhich I was taking part, and hurried over to them with an impulse whichmust have astonished anyone who took note of me. I sat down on a chair,drew it forward almost violently, and thrust myself in between them.

  "What are you two talking about?" I said, roughly, with a suspiciousglance at Margot.

  The Professor looked at me in surprise.

  "I was instructing your wife in some of the mysteries ofsalmon-fishing," he said. "She tells me you have a salmon-river runningthrough your grounds."

  I laughed uneasily.

  "So you are a fisherman as well as a romantic theorist!" I said, ratherrudely. "How I wish I were as versatile! Come, Margot, we must be goingnow. The carriage ought to be here."

  She rose quietly and bade the Professor good-night; but as she glancedup at me, in rising, I fancied I caught a new expression in her eyes.A ray of determination, of set purpose, mingled with the gloomy fire oftheir despair.

  As soon as we were in the carriage I spoke, with a strained effort atease and the haphazard tone which should mask furtive cross-examination.

  "Professor Black is an interesting man," I said.

  "Do you think so?" she answered from her dark corner.

  "Surely. His intellect is really alive. Yet, with all his scientificknowledge and his power of eliciting facts and elucidating them, he isbut a feather headed man." I paused, but she made no answer. "Do you notthink so?"

  "How can I tell?" she replied. "We only talked about fishing. He managedto make that topic a pleasant one."

  Her tone was frank. I felt relieved.

  "He is exceedingly clever," I said, heartily, and we relapsed intosilence.

  When we reached home, and Margot had removed her cloak, she came up tome and laid her hand on my arm.

  So unaccustomed was her touch now that I was startled. She was lookingat me with a curious, steady smile--an unwavering smile that chilledinstead of warming me.

  "Ronald," she said, "there has been a breach between us. I have been thecause of it. I should like to--to heal it. Do you still love me as youdid?"

  I did not answer immediately; I could not. Her voice, schooled as itwas, seemed somehow at issue with the words she uttered. There was adesperate, hard note in it that accorded with that enigmatic smile ofthe mouth.

  It roused a cold suspicion within me that I was close to a maskedbattery. I shrank physically from the touch of her hand.

  She waited with her eyes upon me. Our faces were lit tremblingly by theflames of the two candles we held.

  At last I found a voice.

  "Can you doubt it?" I asked.

  She drew a step nearer.

  "Then let us resume our old relations," she said.

  "Our old relations?"

  "Yes."

  I shuddered as if a phantom stole by me. I was seized with horror.

  "To-night? It is not possible!"

  "Why?" she said, still with that steady smile of the mouth.

  "Because--because I don't know--I---- To-morrow it shall be as of old,Margot--to-morrow. I promise you."

  "Very well. Kiss me, dear."

  I forced myself to touch her lips with mine.

  Which mouth was the colder?

  Then, with that soft, stealthy step of hers, she vanished towards herroom. I heard the door close gently.

  I listened. The key was not turned in the lock.

  This sudden abandonment by Margot of the fantastic precautions I hadalmost become accustomed to filled me with a nameless dread.

  That night I fastened my door for the first time.

  IV.

  _Friday Night, November 6th_.

  I fastened my door, and when I went to bed lay awake for hourslistening. A horror was upon me then which has not left me since for amoment, which may never leave me. I shivered with cold that night, thecold born of sheer physical terror. I knew that I was shut up in thehouse with a soul bent on unreasoning vengeance, the soul of the animalwhich I had killed prisoned in the body of the woman I had married. Iwas sick with fear then. I am sick with fear now.

  To-night I am so tired. My eyes are heavy and my head aches. No wonder.I have not slept for three nights. I have not dared to sleep.

  This strange revolution in my wife's conduct, this passionlesschange--for I felt instinctively that warm humanity had nothing to dowith the transformation--took place three nights ago. These three lastdays Mar-got has been playing a part. With what object?

  When I sat down to this gray record of two souls--at once dreary andfantastic as it would seem, perhaps, to many--I desired to reassuremyself, to write myself into sweet reason, into peace.

>   I have tried to accomplish the impossible. I feel that the wildesttheory may be the truest, after all--that on the borderland of whatseems madness, actuality paces.

  Every remembrance of my mind confirms the truth first suggested to me byProfessor Black.

  I know Margot's object now.

  The soul of the creature that I tortured, that I killed, has passed intothe body of the woman whom I love; and that soul, which once slept inits new cage, is awake now, watching, plotting perhaps. Unconsciously toitself, it recognises me. It stares out upon me with eyes in whichthe dull terror deepens to hate; but it does not understand why itfears--why, in its fear, it hates. Intuition has taken the place ofmemory. The Change of environment has killed recollection, and has leftinstinct in its place.

  Why did I ever sit down to write? The recalling of facts has set theseal upon my despair.

  Instinct only woke in Margot when I brought her