It's of me--I shouldn't think it would matter
if I saw it.' "Marsh was interrupting this time, his voice curiously hard and
strained. "'No. Not now. You'll see it in due time. You say it's of you--yes,
it's that, but it's more. If you knew, you mightn't be so impatient. Poor Denis! My God, it's a shame!' "My throat went suddenly dry as the words rose to an almost febrile
pitch. What could Marsh mean? Suddenly I saw that he had stopped and
was entering the house alone. I heard the front door slam, and listened
as his footsteps ascended the stairs. Outside on the veranda I could
still hear Marceline's heavy, angry breathing. I crept away sick at
heart, feeling that there were grave things to ferret out before I
could safely let Denis come back. *       *       *       *       *

"After that evening the tension around the place was even worse than
before. Marceline had always lived on flattery and fawning, and
the shock of those few blunt words from Marsh was too much for her
temperament. "There was no living in the house with her any more, for with poor
Denis gone she took out her abusiveness on everybody. When she could
find no one indoors to quarrel with she would go out to Sophonisba's
cabin and spend hours talking with the queer old Zulu woman. Aunt Sophy
was the only person who would fawn abjectly enough to suit her, and
when I tried once to overhear their conversation I found Marceline
whispering about _elder secrets_ and _unknown_ Kadath while the
Negress rocked to and fro in her chair, making inarticulate sounds of
reverence and admiration every now and then. "But nothing could break her dog-like infatuation for Marsh. She
would talk bitterly and sullenly to him, yet was getting more and
more obedient to his wishes. It was very convenient for him, since
he now became able to make her pose for the picture whenever he felt
like painting. He tried to show gratitude for this willingness, but I
thought I could detect a kind of contempt or even loathing beneath his
careful politeness. For my part, I frankly hated Marceline! There was
no use in calling my attitude anything as mild as mere dislike these
days. Certainly, I was glad Denis was away. His letters, not nearly so
frequent as I wished, showed signs of strain and worry. "As the middle of August went by I gathered from Marsh's remarks that
the portrait was nearly done. His mood seemed increasingly sardonic,
though Marceline's temper improved a bit, as the prospect of seeing the
thing tickled her vanity. I can still recall the day when Marsh said
he'd have everything finished within a week. Marceline brightened up
perceptibly, though not without a venomous look at me. It seemed as if
her coiled hair visibly tightened about her head. "'I'm to be the first to see it!' she snapped. Then, smiling at Marsh,
she added, 'And if I don't like it I shall slash it to pieces!' "Marsh's face took on the most curious look I had ever seen it wear as
he answered her. "'I can't vouch for your taste, Marceline, but I swear it will
be magnificent! Not that I want to take much credit--art creates
itself--and this thing had to be done. Just wait!' "During the next few days I felt a queer sense of foreboding, as if
the completion of the picture meant a kind of catastrophe instead of a
relief. Denis, too, had not written me, and my agent in New York said
he was planning some trip to the country. I wondered what the outcome
of the whole thing would be. What a queer mixture of elements--Marsh
and Marceline, Denis and I! How would all these ultimately react on one
another? When my fears grew too great I tried to lay them all to my
infirmity, but that explanation never quite satisfied me. *       *       *       *       *

"Well, the thing exploded on Tuesday, the 26th of August. I had risen
at my usual time and had breakfast, but was not good for much because
of the pain in my spine. It had been troubling me badly of late, and
forcing me to take opiates when it got too unbearable; nobody else was
downstairs except the servants, though I could hear Marceline moving
about in her room. Marsh slept in the attic next his studio, and had
begun to keep such late hours that he was seldom up till noon. About
ten o'clock the pain got the better of me, so that I took a double dose
of my opiate and lay down on the parlor sofa. The last I heard was
Marceline's pacing overhead. Poor creature--if I had known! She must
have been walking before the long mirror admiring herself. That was
like her--vain from start to finish, reveling in her own beauty, just
as she reveled in all the little luxuries Denis was able to give her. "I didn't wake up till near sunset, and knew instantly how long I had
slept from the golden light and long shadows outside the window. Nobody
was about, and a sort of unnatural stillness seemed to be hovering over
everything. From afar, though, I thought I could sense a faint howling,
wild and intermittent, whose quality had a slight but baffling
familiarity about it. I'm not much for psychic premonitions, but I was
frightfully uneasy from the start. There had been dreams, even worse
than the ones I had been dreaming in the weeks before; and this time
they seemed hideously linked to some black and festering reality. The
whole place had a poisonous air. Afterward I reflected that certain
sounds must have filtered through to my unconscious brain during those
hours of drugged sleep. My pain, though, was very much eased, and I
rose and walked without difficulty. "Soon enough I began to see that something was wrong. Marsh and
Marceline might have been riding, but someone ought to have been
getting dinner in the kitchen. Instead there was only silence, except
for that faint distant howl or wail, and nobody answered when I pulled
the old-fashioned bell-cord to summon Scipio. Then, chancing to look
up, I saw the spreading stain on the ceiling--the bright red stain,
that must have come through the floor of Marceline's room. "In an instant I forgot my crippled back and hurried upstairs to find
out the worst. Everything under the sun raced through my mind as I
struggled with the dampness-warped door of that silent chamber, and
most hideous of all was a terrible sense of malign fulfilment and
fatal expectedness. I had, it struck me, known all along that nameless
horrors were gathering; that something profoundly evil had gained a
foothold under my roof from which only blood and tragedy could result. "The door gave at last, and I stumbled into the large room beyond--all
dim from the branches of the great trees outside the windows. For a
moment I could do nothing but flinch at the faint evil odor that
immediately struck my nostrils. Then, turning on the electric light and
glancing around, I glimpsed a nameless blasphemy on the yellow and blue
rug. "It lay face down in a great pool of dark, thickened blood, and had
the gory print of a shod human foot in the middle of its naked back. Blood was spattered everywhere--on the walls, furniture and floor.