Round the Block Part 27

It was as if the mighty invisible demons of the night were capriciously trying the effects of cerements on the sleeping city. It was as if they were perplexed between the soft beauty of the shroud and the sombre majesty of the pall. A woman could not have tried on two shawls more often and more indecisively, before making up her mind to buy.

Little Pet's sleeping room, like every room that faced the south, that night, was full of strange, spectral effects. The scrolls and the roses on the cheap yellow curtains that hung in the windows, were changed to hideous faces of variable size and ugliness. Their grotesque shadows on the floor mingled with other faces--horrible as antique masks--wrought by the magic of the moon from the gigantic flowers that adorned the narrow strip of carpet by the bedside. Her dresses, suspended from a row of hooks in the corner--and showing, in gentle swells and curves, the lithe, graceful form of the little wearer, like moulds,--would have looked to any open eye, that dreadful night, like women hanging against the wall. This startling idea would have been helped along by two or three shadowy bonnets depending from pegs above them. The white somethings carelessly tossed over a chair near the head of the bed, were no longer the garments of youth, beauty, and innocence, but graveclothes, cold, shining, shuddering, in that deathly light. The touch of the moon, like the presence of a s.e.xton, suggested mortality.

The narrow, single bed, with its four black posts, looked like the fatal trestle, or bier. The slender body which lay upon it was still as death.

The head nestled motionless in a deep indentation of the pillow. A slanting ray of the moon, coming between one of the window curtains and the window, fell upon the face, and showed it white and waxen; the lips, still red, parted to the gleaming teeth; and the eyes not quite covered by the lids. One beautiful round arm curved above her head, and some of her soft brown hair rested in the little open palm. The other stretched down toward the centre of the bed, as if fearlessly to invite the touch of those weird things with which imagination peoples the solemn night--which the wakeful eye, in the still, small hours, sees moving in the darker corners, or pa.s.sing swiftly by the bedside, or hovering in the air, wearing the semblance of one's dead friends, or filling large portions of the room with some formless presence of unutterable malignity and woe.

It was only sleep to which the moon thus gave the pale polish of death.

The gentle murmur of a childish breath broke the silence. The heavy bedclothes slowly rose and fell with the mysterious pulsations of warm life beneath. At intervals, a shudder shook the little figure of the sleeper, her breath came louder and quicker, and her arms moved with sudden starts. Pet was dreaming, under the joint influences of an excess of blankets and a cup of strong tea.

She was alone in infinite s.p.a.ce. Above, below, on all sides, was a leaden atmosphere. Neither sun, nor moon, nor stars illumined it, but only some dull, phosph.o.r.escent light, which seemed to be born of the murky, stagnant air. It was such a strange, sickly, wavering gleam as she had seen above decaying wood, fish, and other substances. All around was absolute stillness. Not a swallow waved his wing nor an insect hummed in that barren immensity. Nature was hushed by some deadly spell.

Yet the dread silence portended the near approach of HORRORS. She knew what they were, for she had been in this frightful region often before, and was familiar with its dread phenomena. They came. They were only two little black specks--like motes in the sunbeams--scarcely visible to her strained vision at first. She gazed upon them with the fascination of a charmed bird on the two small jet eyes of a serpent; but with this difference, that she knew the terrible peril that they brought. The moment that these two motes became visible to her in that dimly lighted mist, they commenced revolving around each other.

They revolved slowly, and increased in size as they rolled on. The slowness of the motion and the swelling of the motes were elements of horror. But she could not take her eyes from those two black objects revolving like binary stars, until her breath should cease to come and go, and her heart to beat. As the motes enlarged, their orbits widened.

And they grew and-grew, performing greater and more awful circuits--still slowly, still noiselessly. The eternal, unbroken silence was another element of horror. The doomed spectatress of this solemn, maddening whirl would fain have shrieked, or even whispered, to break the silence, but she could not. Either her powers of articulation had disappeared in that region of universal dumbness, or the dead atmosphere was waveless, and could vibrate to no sound. She knew, by harrowing experience, the scene that was to come, and she prayed inwardly to G.o.d to strengthen her for it.

The two black objects swelled and swelled in even proportions, until they became as large as a full moon just seen above the horizon; then to the size of two full moons, and a dozen, and a hundred, and a thousand.

Still black, still noiseless, still revolving slowly, like a tardy but certain doom. Then a quarter of the leaden s.p.a.ce was filled with their gigantic bodies, and the lurid air was darker. Then a half of the heavens was blotted out; She grew faint and sick, as she moved her head to the right and left, and up and down, and watched the dizzy revolutions of those vast orbs, between which she knew that she was to be crushed at last, as by the nether and upper millstones. Her inarticulate cries to G.o.d were unheard. It seemed as if there were no G.o.d for that accursed part of the universe.

Majestically, slowly, silently ever, the orbs increased. Two strips of the sky could be seen constantly changing positions, but always opposite to each other. These were the gaps, fast narrowing, which were to be filled up by the swelling worlds before her destruction was accomplished. Her long familiarity with the movements of this stupendous enginery of death enabled her to calculate to a nicety when the crash would come. She lay like the bound victim under the guillotine, watching fer the axe to descend.

The blackness of darkness above and beneath and around her ... a suffocating compression of the stagnant air ... a thrilling consciousness of the close approach of the two cruel orbs.... a superlative stillness ... and then a mighty attrition, in which the mortal part of the poor girl was about to be ground to atoms, when she ... awoke.

She threw back the heavy blankets that oppressed her chest, as if _they_ were the crushing danger. She looked overhead, expecting to see a whirling globe within a foot of her face. But she saw only the ceiling, made visible by the pallid light of the room. Then she knew that she was in her own little room, and that this frightful adventure was only the old, old dream, that came to her two or three times a year, as far back as she could remember--the same always, without addition or curtailment.

CHAPTER IV.

A VISION OF HORRORS.

Little Pet was not the least superst.i.tious; because her father had taught her from infancy to pay no heed to dreams or signs; and because he had allowed no housemaid or fussy old woman to inoculate his young daughter with her own senseless and cowardly fears. Pet smiled at the momentary terror which the strange old dream had caused, closed her eyes, and addressed herself again to sleep. But, first, she drew up the weighty blankets over her little frame, as her father had told her to do. She had already found out by experience, that a hot application of blankets was the best remedy for a young cold.

A low murmur, as of conversation, came from the adjoining room. Then she remembered that Mr. Wilkeson was there when she had come to bed. She said to herself: "It cannot be late; for he never stops after ten o'clock." Then she began to think of some matters which had recently perplexed and distressed her greatly. But she was so sleepy, that the thoughts came into her little head confusedly, and, several times, merged into dreams, and then came out again. The low murmur of the talk outside, like the distant hum of a waterfall or a mill, was sedative.

The act of listening to it--as she did for a few moments with natural curiosity--was provocative of sleep.

The conversation suddenly grew louder. The hollow voice of the inventor, and the deep ba.s.s of Marcus Wilkeson, could be heard alternating quickly. These words reached little Pet:

THE INVENTOR. "We have had along conversation, Mr. Wilkeson, and I will end it by saying that it is best for us to separate, now and forever."

MARCUS (_bitterly_). "As you please, sir; but it is hard that a man's reputation should be at the mercy of any scoundrel who knows how to write a libel, and has not courage enough to acknowledge it."

THE INVENTOR (_pettishly_). "I have told you a dozen times, that I despise anonymous letter writers. They are ever liars and cowards."

MARCUS. "But you respected this one enough to adopt his suggestions."

THE INVENTOR. "So the magistrate uses hints that may be furnished him by professional thieves, for the detection of crime. But he, none the less, loathes those who would inform upon their comrades."

MARCUS. "You believe, therefore, only what you have seen or heard for yourself."

THE INVENTOR. "Nothing further, I a.s.sure you. In all matters of proof, it is my nature to be suspicious."

MARCUS. "But none of these accusations against me have been proved."

THE INVENTOR. "Why protract this painful conversation? It is sufficient for me to say that we must part.--(_Excitedly_.) Good heavens, sir! am I not the guardian of my daughter, and warranted in accepting or rejecting acquaintances for her? Must I make long explanations to everybody that I don't see fit to admit into my house and my daughter's society? Is not this a free country, sir?"

MARCUS _(with deep despair in his voice_). "Perfectly free, sir. I admit your rights. And I hereby pledge myself not to intrude upon you or her--at least, until you are convinced of the great injustice of your conduct toward me, and invite me again to your house. But there is one thing more!"

THE INVENTOR (_impatiently_). "One thing more! will this dialogue never end? Well, sir. What the devil is it?" Then he added, as if aware of the coa.r.s.eness and gross impropriety of that expression. "Excuse me, sir, but it is late, and my machine is waiting."

MARCUS (_slowly and firmly_). "One moment, sir. I have sworn my innocence before G.o.d, with the most solemn oath known to man. I may have misconstrued your remarks, but I thought you still doubted me. It is my misfortune to be extremely sensitive upon the point of honor. Having relinquished your acquaintance and that of--of--your daughter, it is now my duty to ask whether you presume to question my oath?"

THE INVENTOR (_with increased impatience_). "Why should I be bored with this cross-examination? I have never said I doubted your oath."

MARCUS (_quickly_). "That is not an answer. Do you believe me, or disbelieve me? Am I a liar and perjurer, or not? In one word; yes, or no!"

THE INVENTOR (_laughing nervously_). "Will you bully me in my own house, sir? There is the door. Out of it!"

There was a noise like the opening of a door.

MARCUS (_between his teeth_). "Never, sir. Never, until you retract your imputation upon my honor."

THE INVENTOR (_losing all control of himself_). "Curse your honor. If you had been more careful of it in your native village--where you are best known--it would not trouble you now. Come, there are the stairs."

MARCUS. "Once more. Do you believe my oath, or not?"

THE INVENTOR (_shouting_). "No! no! a million times, no! since you drive me to it. I believe you to be a crafty scoundrel, who has been trying to ruin my daughter. Out, sir, now--out!"

Then was a sound of two men clenching, and struggling toward the door.

A noise followed like that caused by the sharp closing of the door; but the two men were still in the room, for their scuffling and their short, quick grunts of exertion could be heard with increased distinctness. The noise indicated that one was pushing the other toward the centre of the room. Then followed the dull, nauseating sound of blows, apparently struck with fists upon heads and chests, mingled with noisier but still partly suppressed groans, and defiances.

The conversation which preceded this struggle, had come to Pet's ears with such distinctness, and made such a terrifying impression upon her mind, that it seemed as if she could see the combatants.

At the time when the clenching commenced, the vision was faint, as if she were looking into a dark room. But, as the struggle proceeded, the room seemed to be gradually lighted up for her; and every grapple, every blow, every facial contortion of this horrible contest, were plainly visible. And yet she was not in the room, but lying in her little bed, bound as in the awful dream of the clashing orbs. She knew she was there, and yet she felt that her eyes, all her faculties of observation, had been somehow transferred to her father's room, and that she was actually seeing and hearing the commission of a murder there.

She tried to cry aloud, but her jaws were closed. She would have risen, entered the room, and thrown herself between the frenzied men, but neither hand nor foot could she move. Her body was fastened to the bed as if with adamantine chains, while her mind and soul were the voiceless spectators of a tragedy of which she knew that she was the cause. She could not even open her eyes. If she could have loosed but a muscle from the rigidity of the trance, she knew that her whole frame would be relaxed in an instant. Then she would have bounded--oh! with what speed--into the other room, where her immortal part was helplessly watching the conflict, and interceded at the risk of her life. Alas!

Prometheus was tied to the rock not more firmly than she to that bed of anguish!

The struggle went on. The inventor, though past the prime of life, and worn down by excessive thought, had some strength left. Its duration was brief; but it was not to be despised while it lasted. He grasped the tall figure of Marcus Wilkeson by the neck with one arm, and with the other struck dozens of blows upon his face and chest. The comparative youth and freshness of Marcus were unable to free him from the strong hold of this vigorous old man. Pangs of terror shot through the heart of the poor girl as she saw that her father was about to become a murderer.

Then the tide of fortune changed. Marcus, bruised and black in the face, and panting with exertion, released himself from the inventor's clutch, and, in turn, caught him by the throat. With his long arm he held the furious old man at a safe distance. The unhappy girl was now agonized with fears for her father's life.

"This is madness. Let us stop it." Thus Pet heard Marcus Wilkeson say, in panting accents.

What demoniac spell was it that prevented her from shrieking--"Stop it.

In G.o.d's name, father, stop?"