The low-pitched voices continued in what I thought was a dispute.
Something in the voice of the woman, although I could only hear her
occasionally, piqued yet eluded my memory. But it was the voice of a
young woman, whilst that of the man suggested a foreigner of some sort
and one past youth. Subconsciously pursuing the Wiertz idea, I know
not why, I invested the dimly-visible speakers with distinct
personalities. The man became Asmodeus, master of the revels at the
Black Sabbath, and the young woman I cast for that "young witch"
depicted in one of the canvasses of the weird Belgian genius.
Everything in the black and silver scene seemed to fit the picture.
Here was the unholy tryst, and I pictured the distant woods "peopled
with gray things, the branches burdened with winged creatures arisen
from the pit; the darkness a curtain 'broidered with luminous eyes...."
And it was my recollection of that phrase, from a work on sorcery,
which now set every nerve tingling. Closely I peered into the masking
shadow, telling myself that I was the victim of a subjective
hallucination. If this was indeed the case or if what I saw was
actual, I must leave each who reads to determine for himself; and the
episodes which follow and which I must presently relate will doubtless
aid the decision.
But it seemed to me that for one fleeting moment "luminous eyes"
indeed "'broidered the darkness!'" From out of the shade below the big
tree they regarded me greenly--and I saw them no more.
A while longer I watched, but could not detect any evidence of
movement in the shadow patch. The voices, too, had ceased; so that
presently it occurred to me that the speakers must have withdrawn
along a narrow lane which I had observed during the evening and which
communicated with a footpath across the meadows.
I realized that my heart was beating with extraordinary rapidity. So
powerful and so unpleasant was the impression made upon my mind by
this possibly trivial incident and by the extraordinary dream which
had preceded it, that on returning to bed (and despite the warmth of
the night) I closed both lattices and drew the curtains.
Whether as a result of thus excluding the moonlight or because of some
other reason I know not, but I soon fell into a sound sleep from which
I did not awaken until the chambermaid knocked at the door at eight
o'clock. Neither did I experience any return of those terrifying
nightmares which had disturbed my slumbers earlier in the night.
My breakfast despatched, I smoked a pipe on the bench in the porch,
and Mr. Martin, who evidently had few visitors, became almost
communicative. Undesirable patrons, he gave me to understand, had done
his business much harm. By dint of growls and several winks he sought
to enlighten me respecting the identity of these tradekillers. But I
was no wiser on the point at the end of his exposition than I had been
at the beginning.
"Things ain't right in these parts," he concluded, and thereupon
retired within doors.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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