A Fool There Was Part 34

"You're not so strong as you were, you know," she said, lightly. Suddenly she thrust him from her, reeling. Her eyes flashed; her lips curved, in scorn.

"You sicken me." And then: "You asked me if I had had all I wanted of you. I have, and more. And now I'll go, and leave you to your 'chance!'

But not until--"

She had risen, and gone to the great chair. Into it she sank. He was before her.... She leaned forward, eyes heavy lidded, white arms extended, white teeth glowing, white shoulders shimmering. She hissed, sibilantly:

"A kiss, My Fool!"

He turned from her.... Turned half back again....

"No!" he gasped, weakly.... "No."

She hissed again:

"Kiss me, My Fool!"

The scarlet roses at her breast moved a little. Her lips were parted....

Her eyes were on his....

He cried, thickly, agonizedly:

"I'm free of you! Free, I tell you! I'm going back to wife--to child--to home--to honor! I'm free!"

Her lips curved. Her breast heaved. Her arms glowed. And her eyes were on his.... He came a step nearer--another step--yet another.... He was nearer, now.... She leaned back a little, in the great chair....

He was not a man, now. He was a Thing, and that Thing was of her. Hands hung slack, loose, at his sides; jaw drooped; lips were pendulous. Only, in his eyes was that light that she, and she alone, knew how to kindle.... He was hers, soul, and body, and brain....

Then, suddenly, came of the things that are Unknown. Perhaps came to his ears a voice--to his heart an aid unknown.... His hands stiffened a little.... And then he leaped upon her.

She saw; she had half risen.... Back they went over the great chair, his body on hers, his fingers clutching at her rounded throat. For a moment, they writhed. She screamed, once.... Then, suddenly, his twisted fingers relaxed.... His head fell back. His body, inert, rolled from hers, turned again as it struck the chair, and fell, a thing crushed and dead, at her feet....

She rose, breathing hoa.r.s.ely from between red, parted lips. There were marks upon her throat.... Perhaps, again, she had overestimated her power.... And yet it were not to be sure of this....

Her skirt-hem lay beneath his body. She stooped, lithely, disengaging it.

His fingers clutched torn petals of crimson roses.... She looked.... Then vivid lips parted, and she laughed, a little.

Of that which is known, she knew but little; of that which is unknown, she knew much. Perhaps it is a small thing, after all, to wreck a life.

When they came back, they found him there, alone. He lay p.r.o.ne, on the rug, before the great chair. The moonlight was upon his face; which was not well. Crimson petals, like drops of blood, were upon it; and the redness was crushed between his clutching fingers.

Muriel did not see; for the friend such as few men may ever hope to have and, having, may pray to keep, had thrust the child behind him.

For a long, long time they stood there.... Then slowly, the woman that had been wife turned--her head sunk forward.... She had suffered much, and yet there was in her still the power to suffer; but it was now the suffering of pity--of utter, utter pity.... Head sunk forward, she reeled a little. The man, standing beside her, caught her in strong arm, that she might not fall.... For a tiny moment she rested there--the only rest that she had known since It had come into her life. And who shall say that she was wrong? or he?

Side by side they stood, and gazed upon their dead. They held the little child that she might not see.... Then slowly they turned, and left....

And in the end, perhaps, came to them of G.o.d the happiness that they deserved from Him. Perhaps, even it was a happiness refined of the suffering through which they both had pa.s.sed; for, to know great happiness one must have known great sorrow.

Upon the Altar of Things are made, oft-times, strange sacrifices-- sacrifices that we cannot understand, made in a way that we do not comprehend. For G.o.d has shown us, even the wisest of us, but little of the world in which we live.

THE END.