I noticed, for
instance, that the two swinging doors of baize that cut the corridor
into definite lengths, making little rooms of the spaces between them,
were both wide-open--in the dim light no mean achievement. Also that the
fronds of a palm plant, some ten feet in front of me, still stirred
gently from the air of someone who had recently gone past them. The long
green leaves waved to and fro like hands. Then I went stealthily forward
down the narrow space, proud even that I had this command of myself, and
so carefully that my feet made no sound upon the Japanese matting on the
floor. It was a journey that seemed timeless. I have no idea how fast or slow I
went, but I remember that I deliberately examined articles on each side
of me, peering with particular closeness into the recesses of wall and
window. I passed the first baize doors, and the passage beyond them
widened out to hold shelves of books; there were sofas and small
reading-tables against the wall. It narrowed again presently, as I entered the second stretch. The
windows here were higher and smaller, and marble statuettes of classical
subject lined the walls, watching me like figures of the dead. Their
white and shining faces saw me, yet made no sign. I passed next between
the second baize doors. They, too, had been fastened back with hooks
against the wall. Thus all doors were open--had been recently opened. And so, at length, I found myself in the final widening of the corridor
which formed an antechamber to the music-room itself. It had been used
formerly to hold the overflow of meetings. No door separated it from the
great hall beyond, but heavy curtains hung usually to close it off, and
these curtains were invariably drawn. They now stood wide. And here--I
can merely state the impression that came upon me--I knew myself at last
surrounded. The throng that pressed behind me, also surged in front:
facing me in the big room, and waiting for my entry, stood a multitude;
on either side of me, in the very air above my head, the vast assemblage
paused upon my coming. The pause, however, was momentary, for instantly
the deep, tumultuous movement was resumed that yet was silent as a
cavern underground. I felt the agony that was in it, the passionate
striving, the awful struggle to escape. The semi-darkness held
beseeching faces that fought to press themselves upon my vision,
yearning yet hopeless eyes, lips scorched and dry, mouths that opened to
implore but found no craved delivery in actual words, and a fury of
misery and hate that made the life in me stop dead, frozen by the horror
of vain pity. That intolerable, vain Hope was everywhere. And the multitude, it came to me, was not a single multitude, but many;
for, as soon as one huge division pressed too close upon the edge of
escape, it was dragged back by another and prevented. The wild host was
divided against itself. Here dwelt the Shadow I had "imagined" weeks
ago, and in it struggled armies of lost souls as in the depths of some
bottomless pit whence there is no escape. The layers mingled, fighting
against themselves in endless torture. It was in this great Shadow I had
clairvoyantly seen Mabel, but about its fearful mouth, I now was
certain, hovered another figure of darkness, a figure who sought to keep
it in existence, since to her thought were due those lampless depths of
woe without escape.... Towards me the multitudes now surged. It was a sound and a movement that brought me back into myself. The
great dock at the farther end of the room just then struck the hour of
three. That was the sound. And the movement--? I was aware that a figure
was passing across the distant center of the floor. Instantly I dropped
back into the arena of my little human terror. My hand again clutched
stupidly at the pistol butt. I drew back into the folds of the heavy
curtain. And the figure advanced. I remember every detail. At first it seemed to me enormous--this
advancing shadow--far beyond human scale; but as it came nearer, I
measured it, though not consciously, by the organ pipes that gleamed in
faint colors, just above its gradual soft approach. It passed them,
already halfway across the great room. I saw then that its stature was
that of ordinary men. The prolonged booming of the clock died away. I
heard the footfall, shuffling upon the polished boards. I heard another
sound--a voice, low and monotonous, droning as in prayer. The figure was
speaking. It was a woman. And she carried in both hands before her a
small object that faintly shimmered--a glass of water. And then I
recognized her. There was still an instant's time before she reached me, and I made use
of it. I shrank back, flattening myself against the wall. Her voice
ceased a moment, as she turned and carefully drew the curtains together
behind her, dosing them with one hand. Oblivious of my presence, though
she actually touched my dressing gown with the hand that pulled the
cords, she resumed her dreadful, solemn march, disappearing at length
down the long vista of the corridor like a shadow. But as she passed me, her voice began again, so that I heard each word
distinctly as she uttered it, her head aloft, her figure upright, as
though she moved at the head of a procession:

"A drop of cold water, given in His name, shall moisten their burning
tongues." It was repeated monotonously over and over again, droning down into the
distance as she went, until at length both voice and figure faded into
the shadows at the farther end. For a time, I have no means of measuring precisely, I stood in that dark
corner, pressing my back against the wall, and would have drawn the
curtains down to hide me had I dared to stretch an arm out. The dread
that presently the woman would return passed gradually away. I realized
that the air had emptied, the crowd her presence had stirred into
activity had retreated; I was alone in the gloomy under-space of the
odious building.... Then I remembered suddenly again the terrified women
waiting for me on that upper landing; and realized that my skin was wet
and freezing cold after a profuse perspiration. I prepared to retrace my
steps. I remember the effort it cost me to leave the support of the wall
and covering darkness of my corner, and step out into the grey light of
the corridor. At first I sidled, then, finding this mode of walking
impossible, turned my face boldly and walked quickly, regardless that my
dressing gown set the precious objects shaking as I passed. A wind that
sighed mournfully against the high, small windows seemed to have got
inside the corridor as well; it felt so cold; and every moment I dreaded
to see the outline of the woman's figure as she waited in recess or
angle against the wall for me to pass. Was there another thing I dreaded even more? I cannot say.