Phillipps sat on the edge of the bench gazing awkwardly
at her, and wondering what was to come next, and she looked at him still
without speaking. "Well, madam," he said at last, "I understood from your gesture that you
wished to speak to me. Is there anything I can do for you? Though, if
you will pardon me, I cannot help saying that that seems highly
improbable." "Ah, sir," she said in a low murmuring voice, "do not speak harshly to
me. I am in sore straits, and I thought from your face that I could
safely ask your sympathy, if not your help." "Would you kindly tell me what is the matter?" said Phillipps. "Perhaps
you would like some tea?" "I knew I could not be mistaken," the lady replied. "That offer of
refreshment bespeaks a generous mind. But tea, alas! is powerless to
console me. If you will let me, I will endeavor to explain my trouble." "I should be glad if you would." "I will do so, and I will try and be brief, in spite of the numerous
complications which have made me, young as I am, tremble before what
seems the profound and terrible mystery of existence. Yet the grief
which now racks my very soul is but too simple; I have lost my brother." "Lost your brother! How on earth can that be?" "I see I must trouble you with a few particulars. My brother, then, who
is by some years my elder, is a tutor in a private school in the extreme
north of London. The want of means deprived him of the advantages of a
University education; and lacking the stamp of a degree, he could not
hope for that position which his scholarship and his talents entitled
him to claim. He was thus forced to accept the post of classical master
at Dr. Saunderson's Highgate Academy for the sons of gentlemen, and he
has performed his duties with perfect satisfaction to his principal for
some years. My personal history need not trouble you; if will be enough
if I tell you that for the last month I have been governess in a family
residing at Tooting. My brother and I have always cherished the warmest
mutual affection; and though circumstances into which I need not enter
have kept us apart for some time, yet we have never lost sight of one
another. We made up our minds that unless one of us was absolutely
unable to rise from a bed of sickness, we would never let a week pass by
without meeting, and some time ago we chose this square as our
rendezvous on account of its central position and its convenience of
access. And indeed, after a week of distasteful toil, my brother felt
little inclination for much walking, and we have often spent two or
three hours on this bench, speaking of our prospects and of happier
days, when we were children. In the early spring it was cold and chilly;
still we enjoyed the short respite, and I think that we were often taken
for a pair of lovers, as we sat close together, eagerly talking. Saturday after Saturday we have met each other here, and though the
doctor told him it was madness, my brother would not allow the influenza
to break the appointment. That was some time ago; last Saturday we had
a long and happy afternoon, and separated more cheerfully than usual,
feeling that the coming week would be bearable, and resolving that our
next meeting should be if possible still more pleasant. I arrived here
at the time agreed upon, four o'clock, and sat down and watched for my
brother, expecting every moment to see him advancing towards me from
that gate at the north side of the square. Five minutes passed by, and
he had not arrived; I thought he must have missed his train, and the
idea that our interview would be cut short by twenty minutes, or perhaps
half an hour, saddened me; I had hoped we should be so happy together
to-day. Suddenly, moved by I know not what impulse, I turned abruptly
round, and how can I describe to you my astonishment when I saw my
brother advancing slowly towards me from the southern side of the
square, accompanied by another person. My first thought, I remember, had
in it something of resentment that this man, whoever he was, should
intrude himself into our meeting; I wondered who it could possibly be,
for my brother had, I may say, no intimate friends. Then as I looked
still at the advancing figures, another feeling took possession of me;
it was a sensation of bristling fear, the fear of the child in the dark,
unreasonable and unreasoning, but terrible, clutching at my heart as
with the cold grip of a dead man's hands. Yet I overcame the feeling,
and looked steadily at my brother, waiting for him to speak, and more
closely at his companion. Then I noticed that this man was leading my
brother rather than walking arm-in-arm with him; he was a tall man,
dressed in quite ordinary fashion. He wore a high bowler hat, and, in
spite of the warmth of the day, a plain black overcoat, tightly
buttoned, and I noticed his trousers, of a quiet black and gray stripe. The face was commonplace too, and indeed I cannot recall any special
features, or any trick of expression; for though I looked at him as he
came near, curiously enough his face made no impression on me, it was as
though I had seen a well-made mask. They passed in front of me, and to
my unutterable astonishment I heard my brother's voice speaking to me,
though his lips did not move, nor his eyes look into mine. It was a
voice I cannot describe, though I knew it, but the words came to my ears
as if mingled with plashing water and the sound of a shallow brook
flowing amidst stones. I heard, then, the words, 'I cannot stay,' and
for a moment the heavens and the earth seemed to rush together with the
sound of thunder, and I was thrust forth from the world into a black
void without beginning and without end. For, as my brother passed me, I
saw the hand that held him by the arm, and seemed to guide him, and in
one moment of horror I realized that it was as a formless thing that has
mouldered for many years in the grave. The flesh was peeled in strips
from the bones, and hung apart dry and granulated, and the fingers that
encircled my brother's arm were all unshapen, claw-like things, and one
was but a stump from which the end had rotted off. When I recovered my
senses I saw the two passing out by that gate. I paused for a moment,
and then with a rush as of fire to my heart I knew that no horror
could, stay me, but that I must follow my brother and save him, even
though all hell rose up against me. I ran out and looked up the
pavement, and saw the two figures walking amidst the crowd. I ran across
the road, and saw them turn up that side street, and I reached the
corner a moment later. In vain I looked to right and left, for neither
my brother nor his strange guardian was in sight; two elderly men were
coming down arm-in-arm, and a telegraph boy was walking lustily along
whistling. I remained there a moment horror-struck, and then I bowed my
head and returned to this seat, where you found me. Now, sir, do you
wonder at my grief? Oh, tell me what has happened to my brother, or I
feel I shall go mad."