And there was something else about the creature which I could not fail to notice--something which de Russy had not been able to put into words, but which perhaps had something to do with Denis' wish to kill all those of his blood who had dwelt under the same roof with her. Whether Marsh knew, or whether the genius in him painted it without his knowing, none could say. But Denis and his father could not have known till they saw the picture. Surpassing all in horror was the streaming black hair, which covered the rotting body, _but which was itself not even slightly decayed_. All I had heard of it was amply verified. It was nothing human, this ropy, sinuous, half-oily, half-crinkly flood of serpent darkness. Vile, independent life proclaimed itself at every unnatural twist and convolution, and the suggestion of numberless _reptilian_ heads at the out-turned ends was far too marked to be illusory or accidental. * * * * * The blasphemous thing held me like a magnet. I was helpless, and did not wonder at the myth of the gorgon's glance which turned all beholders to stone. Then I thought I saw a change come over the thing. The leering features perceptibly moved, so that the rotting jaw fell, allowing the thick, beast-like lips to disclose a row of pointed yellow fangs. The pupils of the fiendish eyes dilated, and the eyes themselves seemed to bulge outward. And the hair--that accursed hair! _It had begun to rustle and wave perceptibly, the snake-heads all turning toward de Russy and vibrating as if to strike!_ Reason deserted me altogether, and before I knew what I was doing I drew my revolver and sent a shower of six steel-jacketed bullets through the shocking canvas. The whole thing at once fell to pieces, even the frame toppling from the easel and clattering to the dust-covered floor. But though this horror was shattered, another had risen before me in the form of de Russy himself, whose maddened shrieks as he saw the picture vanish were almost as terrible as the picture itself had been. With a half-articulate scream of "God, now you've done it!" the frantic old man seized me violently by the arm and commenced to drag me out of the room and down the rickety stairs. He had dropped the candle in his panic, but dawn was near, and some faint gray light was filtering in through the dust-covered windows. I tripped and stumbled repeatedly, but never for a moment would my guide slacken his pace. "Run!" he shrieked, "run for your life! You don't know what you've done! I never told you the whole thing! There were things I had to do--_the picture talked to me and told me_. I had to guard and keep it--now the worst will happen! _She and that hair will come up out of their graves, for God knows what purpose!_