I was about to begin my topic, when the words forming in my mind
vanished, and I wondered for a second what icy and intolerable weight
oppressed my heart and suffocated me as with the unutterable horror of
the coffin-lid nailed down on the living. We had dined without candles, and the room had slowly grown from
twilight to gloom, and the walls and corners were indistinct in the
shadow. But from where I sat I looked out into the street; and as I
thought of what I would say to Francis, the sky began to flush and
shine, as it had done on a well-remembered evening, and in the gap
between two dark masses that were houses an awful pageantry of flame
appeared. Lurid whorls of writhed cloud, and utter depths burning, and
gray masses like the fume blown from a smoking city, and an evil glory
blazing far above shot with tongues of more ardent fire, and below as if
there were a deep pool of blood. I looked down to where my brother sat
facing me, and the words were shaped on my lips, when I saw his hand
resting on the table. Between the thumb and forefinger of the closed
hand, there was a mark, a small patch about the size of a sixpence, and
somewhat of the color of a bad bruise. Yet, by some sense I cannot
define, I knew that what I saw was no bruise at all. Oh, if human flesh
could burn with flame, and if flame could be black as pitch, such was
that before me! Without thought or fashioning of words, gray horror
shaped within me at the sight, and in an inner cell it was known to be a
brand. For a moment the stained sky became dark as midnight, and when
the light returned to me, I was alone in the silent room, and soon after
I heard my brother go out. Late as it was, I put on my bonnet and went to Dr. Haberden, and in his
great consulting-room, ill-lighted by a candle which the doctor brought
in with him, with stammering lips, and a voice that would break in spite
of my resolve, I told him all; from the day on which my brother began to
take the medicine down to the dreadful thing I had seen scarcely half an
hour before. When I had done, the doctor looked at me for a minute with an expression
of great pity on his face. "My dear Miss Leicester," he said, "you have evidently been anxious
about your brother; you have been worrying over him, I am sure. Come,
now, is it not so? "I have certainly been anxious," I said. "For the last week or two I
have not felt at ease." "Quite so; you know, of course, what a queer thing the brain is?" "I understand what you mean; but I was not deceived. I saw what I have
told you with my own eyes." "Yes, yes, of course. But your eyes had been staring at that very
curious sunset we had to-night. That is the only explanation. You will
see it in the proper light to-morrow, I am sure. But, remember, I am
always ready to give any help that is in my power; do not scruple to
come to me, or to send for me if you are in any distress." I went away but little comforted, all confusion and terror and sorrow,
not knowing where to turn. When my brother and I met the next day, I
looked quickly at him, and noticed, with a sickening at heart, that the
right hand, the hand on which I had clearly seen the patch as of a black
fire, was wrapped up with a handkerchief. "What is the matter with your hand, Francis?" I said in a steady voice. "Nothing of consequence. I cut a finger last night, and it bled rather
awkwardly, so I did it up roughly to the best of my ability." "I will do it neatly for you, if you like." "No, thank you, dear, this will answer very well. Suppose we have
breakfast; I am quite hungry." We sat down, and I watched him. He scarcely ate or drank at all, but
tossed his meat to the dog when he thought my eyes were turned away; and
there was a look in his eyes that I had never yet seen, and the thought
fled across my mind that it was a look that was scarcely human. I was
firmly convinced that awful and incredible as was the thing I had seen
the night before, yet it was no illusion, no glamour of bewildered
sense, and in the course of the morning I went again to the doctor's
house. He shook his head with an air puzzled and incredulous, and seemed to
reflect for a few minutes. "And you say he still keeps up the medicine? But why? As I understand,
all the symptoms he complained of have disappeared long ago; why should
he go on taking the stuff when he is quite well? And by the bye where
did he get it made up? At Sayce's? I never send any one there; the old
man is getting careless. Suppose you come with me to the chemist's; I
should like to have some talk with him." We walked together to the shop. Old Sayce knew Dr. Haberden, and was
quite ready to give any information. "You have been sending that in to Mr. Leicester for some weeks, I think,
on my prescription," said the doctor, giving the old man a pencilled
scrap of paper. The chemist put on his great spectacles with trembling uncertainty, and
held up the paper with a shaking hand. "Oh, yes," he said, "I have very little of it left; it is rather an
uncommon drug, and I have had it in stock some time. I must get in some
more, if Mr. Leicester goes on with it." "Kindly let me have a look at the stuff," said Haberden; and the chemist
gave him a glass bottle. He took out the stopper and smelt the contents,
and looked strangely at the old man. "Where did you get this?" he said, "and what is it? For one thing, Mr.
Sayce, it is not what I prescribed. Yes, yes, I see the label is right
enough, but I tell you this is not the drug." "I have had it a long time," said the old man, in feeble terror. "I got
it from Burbage's in the usual way. It is not prescribed often, and I
have had it on the shelf for some years. You see there is very little
left." "You had better give it to me," said Haberden. "I am afraid something
wrong has happened." We went out of the shop in silence, the doctor carrying the bottle
neatly wrapped in paper under his arm. "Dr. Haberden," I said when we had walked a little way--"Dr. Haberden." "Yes," he said, looking at me gloomily enough. "I should like you to tell me what my brother has been taking twice a
day for the last month or so." "Frankly, Miss Leicester, I don't know. We will speak of this when we
get to my house,"

We walked on quickly without another word till we reached Dr.
Haberden's. He asked me to sit down, and began pacing up and down the
room, his face clouded over, as I could see, with no common fears. "Well," he said at length, "this is all very strange; it is only natural
that you should feel alarmed, and I must confess that my mind is far
from easy. We will put aside, if you please, what you told me last night
and this morning, but the fact remains that for the last few weeks Mr.
Leicester has been impregnating his system with a drug which is
completely unknown to me. I tell you, it is not what I ordered; and what
that stuff in the bottle really is remains to be seen."