The cheeks were hideously twisted into gnarled, unnatural shapes. The dreadful mouth, perverted to a Silenic grin, leered lasciviously up at me until I shrank back, dizzy, nauseated, at the repulsive sight of it.
I felt myself shaking with terror. This — this nightmare! This phantasma! I could not take my eyes away. For above that horrible disfigurement of flesh, the deep, soul-fathoming eyes of my friend looked up wonderfully into mine, and held me in spite of all my horror at the almost obscene ugliness beneath them.
There was the same old immortal patience, the world of understanding, the illimitable depths of pity. Pity for me! And there, too, at last I divined what I could never interpret before. There was the look which I had for so long been unable to understand. That look was Pain!
Our gazes met: mine telling all my horror, my terror, my fear, my abject cowardice, my disgust; his, immortal, patient, all-wise, all-knowing, like the eyes of God.
"My poor friend—" the gargoyle's mouth twisted and contorted shockingly in an effort to form the words, "I cannot speak. This seizure has taken sudden hold upon me. This face — this ghoul's head—"
"Have pity — have pity~ upon my weakness," I faltered in the tremulous whisper of a frightened child. I was too much unnerved even to attempt a concealment of my horror. "I can't help myself. I know that this is only physical with you. I know that we have no mastery of our flesh. When you are well again I will show you how really much I feel for you in your terrible misfortune."
I looked appealingly down into the all-pitying light of those unfathomable eyes. I tried to see only his eyes. I tried with all my soul to forget the frightful contortion beneath them. And slowly there stole over me a sense of illimitable calm.
"My very good friend," the low voice, articulating slowly and painfully, came to me as through a mist of dreams, "I am dying, I have been waiting, trying to prepare for this during several months. Now it has come. After I have been laid away you may care to know… some day you may wish to understand…
"I have made provision for that, both for you and for one other whom you will meet after I have gone."
His face working in frightful contortion, my friend lifted a hand, pointing tremulously to the paper-littered table.
I had forgotten Mrs. Muzzard, who had apparently been standing by the window. As I moved from the bedside, where my body had been screening the dying man, she caught sight of his face upon the pillow. 4
With a shrill scream, lifting her hands to cover her eyes, she fell a crumpled heap upon the floor.
Managing to control myself until a doctor was summoned, I had my tragically unfortunate friend removed to a hospital.
Poor Mrs. Muzzard went out of one fit of hysterics into another, so that I was obliged to lay sufficient hold upon myself to plead with one of the neighbors for aid in attending her.
All these necessary duties served to keep my mind from dwelling upon the terrible ordeal through which we had gone. But late into the night I lay tossing upon my bed unable to sleep. I did not dare put out the light in my room, so fearful was I of the shadows of the dark.
All night long I was haunted, haunted, afraid to close my eyes lest I should see that grim vision of distorted flesh.
Once a window-shutter, loose from its fastenings, swayed noisily in the wind, and I screamed in terror.
But when the dawn came and the gas grew wan against the light of day, with weariness and exhaustion I fell at last into a deep sleep.
VI
I was awakened by a knocking at the door.
"Come in!" I called, but in a voice which I could scarce recognize as my own.
Mrs. Seagle, the neighbor who had taken care of my stricken landlady, pushed an untidy head through the open doorway.
"There's someone to see you, sir," she said.
It was someone from the office, J fancied, to know why I had not gone to work. I felt a wave of rebellious annoyance, because, for this one dreadful day, I might not be left in peace.
"Well!" I cried petulantly as Mrs. Seagle did not move, "show the man up!"
"It's a lady."
"A lady," I echoed in consternation.
The woman grinned meaningly at me.
"Confound your impudence!" I cried, "show the lady into Mrs. Muzzard's parlor."
"Mrs. Muzzard ain't got no parlor," the woman retorted, retreating in some apprehension at my vehemence.
"Well, then, show her into one > of the vacant rooms downstairs while I put my coat on."
As I entered the stuffy room a few moments later a tall figure clad in black arose from one of the hideous horsehair chairs and approached me.
"Are. you Mr. Scrimgeour?" she asked. Her voice was low and musically soft. I looked into a pair of large, wistful eyes. Something about them seemed familiar to me.
"You are…" I hesitated wonderingly.
"I am the daughter of Nathaniel Broome," she replied, and for a moment the heavy lids lowered over her eyes.
"I have come from Montreal. The day before yesterday I received a telegram from my father saying that he was ill, so, of course, I came at once."
"But have you seen your father. Miss Broome?"
"I called here early this morning and — was told of my poor father's seizure."
"I wasn't told that anyone had called," I observed. "It's perhaps due to the fact that Mrs. Muzzard is ill. You see, everything is in confusion here… a neighbor…"
"Yes, I have learned that."
"And your father?" I asked.
"My father, Mr. Scrimgeour, is dead."
I could only stare, dumb and astonished. "Why haven't I been told?" I exclaimed at last. "To die like that, friendless and forsaken!"
"I have just come from my father's bedside," she replied. "I am here to bring you the sad news."
"Good God!" I exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "You saw… you saw…?" I dreaded to ask, yet wanted most frantically to know.
"I can't understand why," the young girl went on, looking inquiringly at me. "but the nurses at the hospital wouldn't let me take the cloth from my father's face."
I did not dare to look into her eyes. I could not reply.
"My father once told me in one of his letters that in case of anything happening to him I was to come to you for advice and for guidance. I have come now. Will you tell me what you know? It all seems very strange. I… I'm at a loss to understand. You will not refuse?"
With the pleading charm of her eyes her overwhelming beauty encompassed me like a wave of some divine ether carrying me off my middle-aged feet.
"Dear friend," I replied, scarce able to keep the agitation from my voice, "I shall refuse you nothing in my power. Your father has left a number of papers which he hinted to me in words I didn't understand would tell us all we wished to know." My heart warmed under the look of gratitude in her eyes.
"And those papers, where are they?" she cried eagerly.
"The room, I fancy, is still untouched as we left it yesterday."
"Let us go then; I am all impatience."
Gravely I led the way upstairs to the ill-fated room. The naked boards of the old stairs creaked abominably as we trod upon them, and, thinking of the wretchedness of the upper rooms, I was ashamed.
VII
The papers upon the table lay just as they had been left upon the previous day.
"Each page is numbered," said Miss Broome, looking them over. "We shall find little difficulty in reading them."
She busied herself collating the scattered leaves, bending her head to hide the turbulent emotion in her eyes.
Turning, with a wistful smile, she handed them to me.
"Here they are in their correct order," she said. "Would you care to read them aloud to me?"