"'The case simply is, that one phase of her half hypnotizes me in a
certain way--a very strange, fantastic, and dimly terrible way--just
as another phase half hypnotizes you in a much more normal way. I see
something in her--or to be psychologically exact, something through
her or beyond her--that you don't see at all; something that brings up
a vast pageantry of shapes from forgotten abysses, and makes me want
to paint incredible things whose outlines vanish the instant I try to
envisage them clearly. Don't mistake, Denny: your wife is a magnificent
being, a splendid focus of cosmic forces who has a right to be called
divine if anything on earth has!' "I felt a clearing of the situation at this point, for the abstract
strangeness of Marsh's expressed sentiment, plus the flattery he was
now heaping on Marceline, could not fail to disarm and mollify one as
fondly proud of his consort as Denis always was. Marsh evidently caught
the change himself, for there was more confidence in his tone as he
continued. "'I must paint her, Denny, must paint that hair, and you won't regret
it. There's something more than mortal about that hair, something more
than beautiful----'

"He paused, and I wondered what Denis could be thinking. Was Marsh's
interest actually that of the artist alone, or was he merely infatuated
as Denis had been? I had thought, in their school days, that he had
envied my boy, and I dimly felt that it might be the same now. On
the other hand, something in that talk of artistic stimulus had rung
amazingly true; so that the more I pondered, the more I was inclined to
take the stuff at face value. Denis seemed to do so, too, for although
I could not catch his low-spoken reply, I could tell by the effect it
produced that it must have been affirmative. "There was a sound of someone slapping another on the back, and then a
grateful speech from Marsh that I was long to remember. "'That's great, Denny; and just as I told you, you'll never regret
it. In a sense, I'm half doing it for you. You'll be a different man
when you see it. It'll put you back where you used to be--give you a
waking-up and a sort of salvation--but you can't see what I mean as
yet. Just remember old friendship, and don't get the idea that I'm not
the same old bird!' *       *       *       *       *

"I rose perplexedly as I saw the two stroll off across the lawn, arm
in arm. What could Marsh have meant by his strange and almost ominous
reassurance? The more my fears were quieted in one direction, the more
they were aroused in another. Look at it in any way I could, it seemed
to be rather a bad business. "But matters got started just the same. Denis fixed up an attic room
with skylights, and Marsh sent for all sorts of painting equipment. Everyone was rather excited about the new venture, and I was at least
glad that something was on foot to break the brooding tension. "Soon the sittings began, and we all took them quite seriously, for we
could see that Marsh regarded them as important artistic events. Denny
and I used to go quietly about the house as though something sacred
were occurring. "With Marceline, though, it was a different matter, as I began to see
at once. Whatever Marsh's reactions to the sittings may have been, hers
were painfully obvious. Every possible way she betrayed a frank and
commonplace infatuation for the artist, and would repulse Denis' marks
of affection whenever she dared. Oddly, I noticed this more vividly
than Denis himself, and tried to devise some plan for keeping the
boy's mind easy until the matter could be straightened out. There was
no use in having him excited about it if it could be helped. "In the end I decided that Denis had better be away while the
disagreeable situation existed. I could represent his interests well
enough at this end, and sooner or later Marsh would finish the picture
and go. My view of Marsh's honor was such that I did not look for any
worse developments. When the matter had blown over, and Marceline had
forgotten about her new infatuation, it would be time enough to have
Denis on hand again. "So I wrote a long letter to my marketing and financial agent in New
York, and cooked up a plan to have the boy summoned there for an
indefinite time. I had the agent write him that our affairs absolutely
required one of us to go East, and of course my illness made it clear
that I could not be the one. It was arranged that when Denis got to New
York he would find enough plausible matters to keep him busy as long as
I thought he ought to be away. "The plan worked perfectly, and Denis started for New York without
the least suspicion. Marceline and Marsh went with him in the car to
Cape Girardeau, where he caught the afternoon train to St. Louis. They
returned about dark, and as McCabe drove the car back to the stables I
could hear them talking on the veranda. This time I resolved to do some
intentional eavesdropping, so quietly went down to the front parlor and
stretched out on the sofa near the window. "At first I could hear nothing, but very shortly there came a sound as
of a chair being shifted, followed by a short, sharp breath and a sort
of inarticulately hurt exclamation from Marceline. Then I heard Marsh
speaking in a strained, almost formal voice. "'I'd enjoy working tonight--if you're not too tired.' "Marceline's reply was in the same hurt tone which had marked her
exclamation. She used English, as he had done. "'Oh, Frank, is that really all you care about? Forever working! Can't
we just sit out in this glorious moonlight?' "He answered impatiently, his voice showing a certain contempt beneath
the dominant quality of artistic enthusiasm. "'Moonlight! Good God, what cheap sentimentality! For a supposedly
sophisticated person you surely do hang on to some of the crudest
claptrap that ever escaped from the dime novels. With art at your
elbow, you have to think of the moon! Or perhaps it makes you think of
the Roodmus dance around the stone pillars at Auteuil; hell! how you
used to make those goggle-eyed yaps stare! But no, I suppose you've
dropped all that now. No more Atlantean magic or hair-snake rites for
Madame de Russy! I'm the only one to remember the old things, the
things that came down through the temples of Tanit and called on the
ramparts of Zimbabwe. But I won't be cheated of that remembrance--all
that is weaving itself into the thing on my canvas--the thing that is
going to capture wonder and crystallize the secrets of seventy-five
thousand years.' "Marceline interrupted in a voice full of mixed emotions. "'It's you who are cheaply sentimental now! You know well that the old
things had better be let alone. All of you had better look out if ever
I chant the old rites or try to call up what lies hidden in Yuggoth,
Zimbabwe, and Rl'yeh. I thought you had more sense! "'You lack logic. You want me to be interested in this precious
painting of yours, yet you never let me see what you're doing. Always
that black cloth over it!