to get his face at
all. Hers I found indistinctly. But I saw him catch her playfully by the
chin! After a little they rose. He put his arm about her and kissed
her, and he ran his fingers through her hair. She had such fine golden
hair--so light, and it lifted to every breath. Something got into my
brain. I know now it was the maggot which sent Othello mad. The world in
that hour was malicious, awful....

"After a time--it seemed ages, she and everything had receded so far--I
went... home. At the door I asked the servant who had been there. She
hesitated, confused, and then said the young curate of the parish. I was
very cool: for madness is a strange thing; you see everything with an
intense aching clearness--that is the trouble.... She was more kind
than common. I do not think I was unusual. I was playing a part well,
my grandmother had Indian blood like yours, Pierre, and I was waiting.
I was even nicely critical of her to myself. I balanced the mole on her
neck against her general beauty; the curve of her instep, I decided, was
a little too emphatic. I passed her backwards and forwards, weighing her
at every point; but yet these two things were the only imperfections.
I pronounced her an exceeding piece of art--and infamy. I was much
interested to see how she could appear perfect in her soul. I encouraged
her to talk. I saw with devilish irony that an angel spoke. And, to
cap it all, she assumed the fascinating air of the mediator--for her
brother; seeking a reconciliation between us. Her amazing art of
person and mind so worked upon me that it became unendurable; it was so
exquisite--and so shameless. I was sitting where the priest had sat that
afternoon; and when she leaned towards me I caught her chin lightly and
trailed my fingers through her hair as he had done: and that ended it,
for I was cold, and my heart worked with horrible slowness. Just as a
wave poises at its height before breaking upon the shore, it hung at
every pulse-beat, and then seemed to fall over with a sickening thud. I
arose, and acting still, spoke impatiently of her brother. Tears sprang
to her eyes. Such divine dissimulation, I thought--too good for earth.
She turned to leave the room, and I did not stay her. Yet we were
together again that night.... I was only waiting."

The cigarette had dropped from his fingers to the floor, and lay there
smoking. Shon's face was fixed with anxiety; Pierre's eyes played
gravely with the sunshine. Wendl