The Great God Pan | Page 6

ilex. Clarke, in the deep folds of dream, was
conscious that the path from his father's house had led him into an
undiscovered country, and he was wondering at the strangeness of it all,
when suddenly, in place of the hum and murmur of the summer, an
infinite silence seemed to fall on all things, and the wood was hushed,
and for a moment in time he stood face to face there with a presence,
that was neither man nor beast, neither the living nor the dead, but all
things mingled, the form of all things but devoid of all form. And in
that moment, the sacrament of body and soul was dissolved, and a
voice seemed to cry "Let us go hence," and then the darkness of
darkness beyond the stars, the darkness of everlasting.
When Clarke woke up with a start he saw Raymond pouring a few
drops of some oily fluid into a green phial, which he stoppered tightly.
"You have been dozing," he said; "the journey must have tired you out.
It is done now. I am going to fetch Mary; I shall be back in ten
minutes."
Clarke lay back in his chair and wondered. It seemed as if he had but

passed from one dream into another. He half expected to see the walls
of the laboratory melt and disappear, and to awake in London,
shuddering at his own sleeping fancies. But at last the door opened, and
the doctor returned, and behind him came a girl of about seventeen,
dressed all in white. She was so beautiful that Clarke did not wonder at
what the doctor had written to him. She was blushing now over face
and neck and arms, but Raymond seemed unmoved.
"Mary," he said, "the time has come. You are quite free. Are you
willing to trust yourself to me entirely?"
"Yes, dear."
"Do you hear that, Clarke? You are my witness. Here is the chair, Mary.
It is quite easy. Just sit in it and lean back. Are you ready?"
"Yes, dear, quite ready. Give me a kiss before you begin."
The doctor stooped and kissed her mouth, kindly enough. "Now shut
your eyes," he said. The girl closed her eyelids, as if she were tired, and
longed for sleep, and Raymond placed the green phial to her nostrils.
Her face grew white, whiter than her dress; she struggled faintly, and
then with the feeling of submission strong within her, crossed her arms
upon her breast as a little child about to say her prayers. The bright
light of the lamp fell full upon her, and Clarke watched changes
fleeting over her face as the changes of the hills when the summer
clouds float across the sun. And then she lay all white and still, and the
doctor turned up one of her eyelids. She was quite unconscious.
Raymond pressed hard on one of the levers and the chair instantly sank
back. Clarke saw him cutting away a circle, like a tonsure, from her
hair, and the lamp was moved nearer. Raymond took a small glittering
instrument from a little case, and Clarke turned away shudderingly.
When he looked again the doctor was binding up the wound he had
made.
"She will awake in five minutes." Raymond was still perfectly cool.
"There is nothing more to be done; we can only wait."

The minutes passed slowly; they could hear a slow, heavy, ticking.
There was an old clock in the passage. Clarke felt sick and faint; his
knees shook beneath him, he could hardly stand.
Suddenly, as they watched, they heard a long-drawn sigh, and suddenly
did the colour that had vanished return to the girl's cheeks, and
suddenly her eyes opened. Clarke quailed before them. They shone
with an awful light, looking far away, and a great wonder fell upon her
face, and her hands stretched out as if to touch what was invisible; but
in an instant the wonder faded, and gave place to the most awful terror.
The muscles of her face were hideously convulsed, she shook from
head to foot; the soul seemed struggling and shuddering within the
house of flesh. It was a horrible sight, and Clarke rushed forward, as
she fell shrieking to the floor.
Three days later Raymond took Clarke to Mary's bedside. She was
lying wide-awake, rolling her head from side to side, and grinning
vacantly.
"Yes," said the doctor, still quite cool, "it is a great pity; she is a
hopeless idiot. However, it could not be helped; and, after all, she has
seen the Great God Pan."

II
MR. CLARKE'S MEMOIRS

Mr. Clarke, the gentleman chosen by Dr. Raymond to witness the
strange experiment of the god Pan, was a person in whose character
caution and curiosity were oddly