Yes!" she shouted. She sprang at the picture, darting out withthe paper-cutter. The point ripped into one of the central figures inthe dancing semicircle.
All the crowd in the entry seemed to give a concerted throb, as ofstartled protest. I swung, heart racing, to front them again. What hadhappened? Something had changed, I saw. The intrepid leader hadvanished. No, he had not drawn back into the group. He had vanished.
Miss Dolby, too, had seen. She struck again, gashed the paintedrepresentation of another dancer. And this time the vanishing happenedbefore my eyes, a creature at the rear of the group went out ofexistence as suddenly and completely as though a light had blinked out.
The others, driven by their danger, rushed.
I met them, feet planted. I tried to embrace them all at once, went overbackward under them. I struck, wrenched, tore. I think I even bitsomething grisly and bloodless, like fungoid tissue, but I refuse toremember for certain. One or two of the forms struggled past me andgrappled Miss Dolby. I struggled to my feet and pulled them back fromher. There were not so many swarming after me now. I fought hard beforethey got me down again. And Miss Dolby kept tearing and stabbing at thecanvas--again, again. Clutches melted from my throat, my arms. Therewere only two dancers left. I flung them back and rose. Only one left.Then none.
They were gone, gone into nowhere.
"That did it," said Miss Dolby breathlessly.
She had pulled the picture down. It was only a frame now, with raggedribbons of canvas dangling from it.
I snatched it out of her hands and threw it upon the coals of the fire.
"Look," I urged her joyfully. "It's burning! That's the end. Do yousee?"
"Yes, I see," she answered slowly. "Some fiend-ridden artist--his evilgenius brought it to life."
"The inscription is the literal truth, then?" I supplied.
"Truth no more." She bent to watch the burning. "As the painted figureswere destroyed, their incarnations faded."
We said nothing further, but sat down together and gazed as the flamesate the last thread of fabric, the last splinter of wood. Finally welooked up again and smiled at each other.
All at once I knew that I loved her.
The Golgotha Dancers Page 2