He drew nearer. She was in the dense shadow near the wall, so that he
could not see her. But on her side, as he softly approached steeped in a
grayish light, she could see him with singular distinctness. Never before
had she so plainly divined the power of his lofty brow, the intelligence
of his eyes, the firm will of his mouth. And all at once she was struck
with fulgural certainty; he was coming towards the cavity without seeing
it and he would assuredly plunge into the depths unless she should stop
him as he passed. But a little while before, she, like himself, had come
from yonder, and would have fallen unless a friendly hand had restrained
her; and the frightful shudder of that moment yet palpitated in her
veins; she could still and ever see the damp black pit with the little
lantern far below. The whole horror of it flashed before her eyes--the
ground failing one, the sudden drop with a great shriek, and the smash a
moment afterwards.
Blaise drew yet nearer. But certainly such a thing was impossible; she
would prevent it, since a little motion of her hand would suffice. Would
she not always have time to stretch out her arms when he was there before
her? And yet from the recesses of her being a very clear and frigid voice
seemed to ascend, articulating brief words which rang in her ears as if
repeated by a trumpet blast. If he should die it would be all over, the
factory would never belong to him. She who had bitterly lamented that she
could devise no obstacle had merely to let this helpful chance take its
own course. And this, indeed, was what the voice said, what it repeated
with keen insistence, never adding another syllable. After that there
would be nothing. After that there would merely remain the shattered
remnants of a suppressed man, and a pit of darkness splashed with blood,
in which she discerned, foresaw nothing more. What would happen on the
morrow? She did not wish to know; indeed there would be no morrow. It was
solely the brutal immediate fact which the imperious voice demanded. He
dead, it would be all over, he would never possess the works.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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