The House of the Whispering Pines | Page 8

smiled upon me like an angel of light--a young girl, too, with the dew
of innocence on her beauty to every eye but mine and only not to mine
within--shall I say ten awful minutes? It seemed ages,--all of my life
and more. Yet that lovely breast had heaved not so many times since I
looked upon her as a deified mortal, and now two small spots on
another woman's pulseless throat had drawn a veil of blood over that
beauty, and given to a child the attributes of a Medusa. Yet hope was
not quite stilled. I would look again and perhaps discover that my own
eyes had been at fault, that there were no marks, or if marks, not just
the ones my fancy had painted there.
Turning, I let my glance fall first on the feet. I had not noted them
before, and I was startled to see that the arctics in which they were clad
were filled all around with snow. She had walked then, as the other was
walking now; she, who detested every effort and was of such delicate
make that exertion of unusual kind could not readily be associated with
her. Had she come alone or in Carmel's company, and if in Carmel's
company, on what ostensible errand if not that of death? Her dress,
which was of dark wool, showed that she had changed her garments for
this trip. I had seen her at dinner, and this was not the gown she had
worn then--the gown in which she had confronted me during those few
intolerable minutes when I could not meet her eyes. Fatal cowardice! A
moment of realisation then and we might all have been saved this
horror of sin and death and shameful retribution.
And yet who knows? Not understanding what I saw, how could I

measure the might-have-beens! I would proceed with my task--note if
she wore the diamond brooch I had given her. No, she was without
ornament; I had never seen her so plainly clad. Might I draw a hope
from this? Even the pins which had fallen from her hair were such as
she wore when least adorned. Nothing spoke of the dinner party or of
her having been dragged here unaware; but all of previous intent and
premeditation. Surely hope was getting uppermost. If I had dreamed the
marks--
But no! There they were, unmistakable and damning, just where the
breath struggles up. I put my own thumbs on these two dark spots to
see if--when what was it? A lightning stroke or a call of fate which one
must answer while sense remains? I felt my head pulled around by
some unseen force from behind, and met staring into mine through the
glass of the window a pair of burning eyes. Or was it fantasy? For in
another moment they were gone, nor was I in the condition just then to
dissociate the real from the unreal. But the possibility of a person
having seen me in this position before the dead was enough to startle
me to my feet, and though in another instant I became convinced that I
had been the victim of hallucination, I nevertheless made haste to cross
to the window and take a look through its dismal panes. A gale of
blinding snow was sweeping past, making all things indistinguishable,
but the absence of balcony outside was reassuring and I stepped hastily
back, asking myself for the first time what I should do and where I
should now go to ensure myself from being called as a witness to the
awful occurrence which had just taken place in this house. Should I go
home and by some sort of subterfuge now unthought of, try to deceive
my servants as to the time of my return, or attempt to create an alibi
elsewhere? Something I must do to save myself the anguish and
Carmel the danger of my testimony in this matter. She must never
know, the world must never know that I had seen her here.
I had lost at a blow everything that gives zest or meaning to life, but I
might still be spared the bottommost depth of misery--be saved the
utterance of the word which would sink that erring but delicate soul
into the hell yawning beneath her. It was my one thought now--though
I knew that the woman who had fallen victim to her childish hate had

loved me deeply and was well worth my avenging.
I could not be the death of two women; the loss of one weighed heavily
enough upon my conscience. I would fly the place--I would leave this
ghastly find to tell its own story. The night was stormy, the hour late,
the spot a remote one, and the road to