She smiled vacantly, and imitated the action of writing with her right
hand as she pronounced the last words. The effort of concentrating her
weakened mind on other and less familiar topics than the constant want
of money in the Baron’s lifetime, and the vague prospect of gain from
the still unfinished play, had evidently exhausted her poor reserves of
strength. When her request had been granted, she addressed no
expressions of gratitude to Agnes; she only said, “Feel no fear, miss,
of my attempting to escape you. Where you are, there I must be till the
end comes.”
Her eyes wandered round the room with a last weary and stupefied look.
She returned to her writing with slow and feeble steps, like the steps
of an old woman.
CHAPTER XXIV
Henry and Agnes were left alone in the Room of the Caryatides.
The person who had written the description of the palace—probably a
poor author or artist—had correctly pointed out the defects of the
mantel-piece. Bad taste, exhibiting itself on the most costly and
splendid scale, was visible in every part of the work. It was
nevertheless greatly admired by ignorant travellers of all classes;
partly on account of its imposing size, and partly on account of the
number of variously-coloured marbles which the sculptor had contrived
to introduce into his design. Photographs of the mantel-piece were
exhibited in the public rooms, and found a ready sale among English and
American visitors to the hotel.
Henry led Agnes to the figure on the left, as they stood facing the
empty fire-place. “Shall I try the experiment,” he asked, “or will
you?” She abruptly drew her arm away from him, and turned back to the
door. “I can’t even look at it,” she said. “That merciless marble face
frightens me!”
Henry put his hand on the forehead of the figure. “What is there to
alarm you, my dear, in this conventionally classical face?” he asked
jestingly. Before he could press the head inwards, Agnes hurriedly
opened the door. “Wait till I am out of the room!” she cried. “The bare
idea of what you may find there horrifies me!” She looked back into the
room as she crossed the threshold. “I won’t leave you altogether,” she
said, “I will wait outside.”
She closed the door. Left by himself, Henry lifted his hand once more
to the marble forehead of the figure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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