‘I must see Margaret again.’
‘Arthur, you’re mad!’ cried Susie.
He went up to Dr Porhoët and, putting his hands on his shoulders, looked fixedly into his eyes.
‘You have studied this science. You know all that can be known of it. I want you to show her to me.’
The doctor gave an exclamation of alarm.
‘My dear fellow, how can I? I have read many books, but I have never practised anything. I have only studied these matters for my amusement.’
‘Do you believe it can be done?’
‘I don’t understand what you want.’
‘I want you to bring her to me so that I may speak with her, so that I may find out the truth.’
‘Do you think I am God that I can raise men from the dead?’
Arthur’s hands pressed him down in the chair from which he sought to rise. His fingers were clenched on the old man’s shoulders so that he could hardly bear the pain.
‘You told us how once Eliphas Levi raised a spirit. Do you believe that was true?’
‘I don’t know. I have always kept an open mind. There was much to be said on both sides.’
‘Well, now you must believe. You must do what he did.’
‘You must be mad, Arthur.’
‘I want you to come to that spot where I saw her last. If her spirit can be brought back anywhere, it must be in that place where she sat and wept. You know all the ceremonies and all the words that are necessary.’
But Susie came forward and laid her hand on his arm. He looked at her with a frown.
‘Arthur, you know in your heart that nothing can come of it. You’re only increasing your unhappiness. And even if you could bring her from the grave for a moment, why can you not let her troubled soul rest in peace?’
‘If she died a natural death we shall have no power over her, but if her death was violent perhaps her spirit is earthbound still. I tell you I must be certain. I want to see her once more, and afterwards I shall know what to do.’
‘I cannot, I cannot,’ said the doctor.
‘Give me the books and I will do it alone.’
‘You know that I have nothing here.’
‘Then you must help me,’ said Arthur. ‘After all, why should you mind? We perform a certain operation, and if nothing happens we are no worse off than before. On the other hand, if we succeed…. Oh, for God’s sake, help me! If you have any care for my happiness do this one thing for me.’
He stepped back and looked at the doctor. The Frenchman’s eyes were fixed upon the ground.
‘It’s madness,’ he muttered.
He was intensely moved by Arthur’s appeal. At last he shrugged his shoulders.
‘After all, if it is but a foolish mummery it can do no harm.’
‘You will help me?’ cried Arthur.
‘If it can give you any peace or any satisfaction, I am willing to do what I can. But I warn you to be prepared for a great disappointment.’
15
Arthur wished to set about the invocation then and there, but Dr Porhoët said it was impossible. They were all exhausted after the long journey, and it was necessary to get certain things together without which nothing could be done. In his heart he thought that a night’s rest would bring Arthur to a more reasonable mind. When the light of day shone upon the earth he would be ashamed of the desire which ran counter to all his prepossessions. But Arthur remembered that on the next day it would be exactly a week since Margaret’s death, and it seemed to him that then their spells might have a greater efficacy.
When they came down in the morning and greeted one another, it was plain that none of them had slept.
‘Are you still of the same purpose as last night?’ asked Dr Porhoët gravely.
‘I am.’
The doctor hesitated nervously.
‘It will be necessary, if you wish to follow out the rules of the old necromancers, to fast through the whole day.’
‘I am ready to do anything.’
‘It will be no hardship to me,’ said Susie, with a little hysterical laugh. ‘I feel I couldn’t eat a thing if I tried.’
‘I think the whole affair is sheer folly,’ said Dr Porhoët.
‘You promised me you would try.’
The day, the long summer day, passed slowly. There was a hard brilliancy in the sky that reminded the Frenchman of those Egyptian heavens when the earth seemed crushed beneath a bowl of molten fire. Arthur was too restless to remain indoors and left the others to their own devices. He walked without aim, as fast as he could go; he felt no weariness. The burning sun beat down upon him, but he did not know it. The hours passed with lagging feet. Susie lay on her bed and tried to read. Her nerves were so taut that, when there was a sound in the courtyard of a pail falling on the cobbles, she cried out in terror. The sun rose, and presently her window was flooded with quivering rays of gold. It was midday. The day passed, and it was afternoon. The evening came, but it brought no freshness. Meanwhile Dr Porhoët sat in the little parlour, with his head between his hands, trying by a great mental effort to bring back to his memory all that he had read. His heart began to beat more quickly. Then the night fell, and one by one the stars shone out. There was no wind. The air was heavy. Susie came downstairs and began to talk with Dr Porhoët. But they spoke in a low tones if they were afraid that some one would over-hear. They were faint now with want of food. The hours went one by one, and the striking of a clock filled them each time with a mysterious apprehension. The lights in the village were put out little by little, and everybody slept. Susie had lighted the lamp, and they watched beside it. A cold shiver passed through her.
‘I feel as though someone were lying dead in the room,’ she said.
‘Why does not Arthur come?’
They spoke inconsequently, and neither heeded what the other said. The window was wide open, but the air was difficult to breathe. And now the silence was so unusual that Susie grew strangely nervous. She tried to think of the noisy streets in Paris, the constant roar of traffic, and the shuffling of the crowds toward evening as the work people returned to their homes. She stood up.
‘There’s no air tonight. Look at the trees. Not a leaf is moving.’
‘Why does not Arthur come?’ repeated the doctor.
‘There’s no moon tonight. It will be very dark at Skene.’
‘He’s walked all day. He should be here by now.’
Susie felt an extraordinary oppression, and she panted for breath. At last they heard a step on the road outside, and Arthur stood at the window.
‘Are you ready to come?’ he said.
‘We’ve been waiting for you.’
They joined him, bringing the few things that Dr Porhoët had said were necessary, and they walked along the solitary road that led to Skene. On each side the heather stretched into the dark night, and there was a blackness about it that was ominous. There was no sound save that of their own steps. Dimly, under the stars, they saw the desolation with which they were surrounded. The way seemed very long. They were utterly exhausted, and they could hardly drag one foot after the other.
‘You must let me rest for a minute,’ said Susie.
They did not answer, but stopped, and she sat on a boulder by the wayside. They stood motionless in front of her, waiting patiently till she was ready. After a little while she forced herself to get up.
‘Now I can go,’ she said.
Still they did not speak, but walked on. They moved like figures in a dream, with a stealthy directness, as though they acted under the influence of another’s will. Suddenly the road stopped, and they found themselves at the gates of Skene.
‘Follow me very closely,’ said Arthur.
He turned on one side, and they followed a paling. Susie could feel that they walked along a narrow path. She could see hardly two steps in front of her. At last he stood still.
‘I came here earlier in the night and made the opening easier to get through.’
; He turned back a broken piece of railing and slipped in. Susie followed, and Dr Porhoët entered after her.
‘I can see nothing,’ said Susie.
‘Give my your hand, and I will lead you.’
They walked with difficulty through the tangled bracken, among closely planted trees. They stumbled, and once Dr Porhoët fell. It seemed that they went a long way. Susie’s heart beat fast with anxiety. All her weariness was forgotten.
Then Arthur stopped them, and he pointed in front of him. Through an opening in the trees, they saw the house. All the windows were dark except those just under the roof, and from them came bright lights.
‘Those are the attics which he uses as a laboratory. You see, he is working now. There is no one else in the house.’
Susie was curiously fascinated by the flaming lights. There was an awful mystery in those unknown labours which absorbed Oliver Haddo night after night till the sun rose. What horrible things were done there, hidden from the eyes of men? By himself in that vast house the madman performed ghastly experiments; and who could tell what dark secrets he trafficked in?
‘There is no danger that he will come out,’ said Arthur. ‘He remains there till the break of day.’
He took her hand again and led her on. Back they went among the trees, and presently they were on a pathway. They walked along with greater safety.
‘Are you all right, Porhoët?’ asked Arthur.
‘Yes.’
But the trees grew thicker and the night more sombre. Now the stars were shut out, and they could hardly see in front of them.
‘Here we are,’ said Arthur.
They stopped, and found that there was in front of them a green space formed by four cross-ways. In the middle a stone bench gleamed vaguely against the darkness.
‘This is where Margaret sat when last I saw her.’
‘I can see to do nothing here,’ said the doctor.
They had brought two flat bowls of brass to serve as censers, and these Arthur gave to Dr Porhoët. He stood by Susie’s side while the doctor busied himself with his preparations. They saw him move to and fro. They saw him bend to the ground. Presently there was a crackling of wood, and from the brazen bowls red flames shot up. They did not know what he burnt, but there were heavy clouds of smoke, and a strong, aromatic odour filled the air. Now and again the doctor was sharply silhouetted against the light. His slight, bowed figure was singularly mysterious. When Susie caught sight of his face, she saw that it was touched with a strong emotion. The work he was at affected him so that his doubts, his fears, had vanished. He looked like some old alchemist busied with unnatural things. Susie’s heart began to beat painfully. She was growing desperately frightened and stretched out her hand so that she might touch Arthur. Silently he put his arm through hers. And now the doctor was tracing strange signs upon the ground. The flames died down and only a glow remained, but he seemed to have no difficulty in seeing what he was about. Susie could not discern what figures he drew. Then he put more twigs upon the braziers, and the flames sprang up once more, cutting the darkness sharply as with a sword.
‘Now come,’ he said.
But, inexplicably, a sudden terror seized Susie. She felt that the hairs of her head stood up, and a cold sweat broke out on her body. Her limbs had grown on an instant inconceivably heavy so that she could not move. A panic such as she had never known came upon her, and, except that her legs would not carry her, she would have fled blindly. She began to tremble. She tried to speak, but her tongue clave to her throat.
‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ she muttered hoarsely.
‘You must. Without you we can do nothing,’ said Arthur.
She could not reason with herself. She had forgotten everything except that she was frightened to death. Her heart was beating so quickly that she almost fainted. And now Arthur held her, so firmly that she winced.
‘Let me go,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t help you. I’m afraid.’
‘You must,’ he said. ‘You must.’
‘No.’
‘I tell you, you must come.’
‘Why?’
Her deadly fear expressed itself in a passion of sudden anger.
‘Because you love me, and it’s the only way to give me peace.’
She uttered a low wail of pain, and her terror gave way to shame. She blushed to the roots of her hair because he too knew her secret. And then she was seized again with anger because he had the cruelty to taunt her with it. She had recovered her courage now, and she stepped forward. Dr. Porhoët told her where to stand. Arthur took his place in front of her.
‘You must not move till I give you leave. If you go outside the figure I have drawn, I cannot protect you.’
For a moment Dr Porhoët stood in perfect silence. Then he began to recite strange words in Latin. Susie heard him but vaguely. She did not know the sense, and his voice was so low that she could not have distinguished the words. But his intonation had lost that gentle irony which was habitual to him, and he spoke with a trembling gravity that was extraordinarily impressive. Arthur stood immobile as a rock. The flames died away, and they saw one another only by the glow of the ashes, dimly, like persons in a vision of death. There was silence. Then the necromancer spoke again, and now his voice was louder. He seemed to utter weird invocations, but they were in a tongue that the others knew not. And while he spoke the light from the burning cinders on a sudden went out.
It did not die, but was sharply extinguished, as though by invisible hands. And now the darkness was more sombre than that of the blackest night. The trees that surrounded them were hidden from their eyes, and the whiteness of the stone bench was seen no longer. They stood but a little way one from the other, but each might have stood alone. Susie strained her eyes, but she could see nothing. She looked up quickly; the stars were gone out, and she could see no further over her head than round about. The darkness was terrifying. And from it, Dr Porhoët’s voice had a ghastly effect. It seemed to come, wonderfully changed, from the void of bottomless chaos. Susie clenched her hands so that she might not faint.
All at once she started, for the old man’s voice was cut by a sudden gust of wind. A moment before, the utter silence had been almost intolerable, and now a storm seemed to have fallen upon them. The trees all around them rocked in the wind; they heard the branches creak; and they heard the hissing of the leaves. They were in the midst of a hurricane. And they felt the earth sway as it resisted the straining roots of great trees, which seemed to be dragged up by the force of the furious gale. Whistling and roaring, the wind stormed all about them, and the doctor, raising his voice, tried in vain to command it. But the strangest thing of all was that, where they stood, there was no sign of the raging blast. The air immediately about them was as still as it had been before, and not a hair on Susie’s head was moved. And it was terrible to hear the tumult, and yet to be in a calm that was almost unnatural.
On a sudden, Dr Porhoët raised his voice, and with a sternness they had never heard in it before, cried out in that unknown language. Then he called upon Margaret. He called her name three times. In the uproar Susie could scarcely hear. Terror had seized her again, but in her confusion she remembered his command, and she dared not move.
‘Margaret, Margaret, Margaret.’
Without a pause between, as quickly as a stone falls to the ground, the din which was all about them ceased. There was no gradual diminution. But at one moment there was a roaring hurricane and at the next a silence so complete that it might have been the silence of death.
And then, seeming to come out of nothingness, extraordinarily, they heard with a curious distinctness the sound of a woman weeping. Susie’s heart stood still. They heard the sound of a woman weeping, and they recognized the voice of Margaret. A groan of anguish burst from Arthur’s lips, and he was on the point of starting forward. But quickly Dr Porhoët put out his hand to prevent him. The sound was heartrending, the sobbing of a woman who had lost all hope, the sobbing of a woman ter
rified. If Susie had been able to stir, she would have put her hands to her ears to shut out the ghastly agony of it.
And in a moment, notwithstanding the heavy darkness of the starless night, Arthur saw her. She was seated on the stone bench as when last he had spoken with her. In her anguish she sought not to hide her face. She looked at the ground, and the tears fell down her cheeks. Her bosom heaved with the pain of her weeping.
Then Arthur knew that all his suspicions were justified.
16
Arthur would not leave the little village of Venning. Neither Susie nor the doctor could get him to make any decision. None of them spoke of the night which they had spent in the woods of Skene; but it coloured all their thoughts, and they were not free for a single moment from the ghastly memory of it. They seemed still to hear the sound of that passionate weeping. Arthur was moody. When he was with them, he spoke little; he opposed a stubborn resistance to their efforts at diverting his mind. He spent long hours by himself, in the country, and they had no idea what he did. Susie was terribly anxious. He had lost his balance so completely that she was prepared for any rashness. She divined that his hatred of Haddo was no longer within the bounds of reason. The desire for vengeance filled him entirely, so that he was capable of any violence.
Several days went by.
At last, in concert with Dr Porhoët, she determined to make one more attempt. It was late at night, and they sat with open windows in the sitting-room of the inn. There was a singular oppressiveness in the air which suggested that a thunderstorm was at hand. Susie prayed for it; for she ascribed to the peculiar heat of the last few days much of Arthur’s sullen irritability.
‘Arthur, you must tell us what you are going to do,’ she said. ‘It is useless to stay here. We are all so ill and nervous that we cannot consider anything rationally. We want you to come away with us tomorrow.’
‘You can go if you choose,’ he said. ‘I shall remain till that man is dead.’
The Magician Page 23