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- Артур Конан Дойл
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- Tales of Terror and Mystery
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- Стр. 101/137
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"
Little
Beryl
Clare
,
when
she
took
the
risk
of
becoming
his
wife
.
That
was
the
turning
point
.
He
had
got
so
far
that
his
own
fast
set
had
thrown
him
over
.
There
is
a
world
of
difference
,
you
know
,
between
a
man
who
drinks
and
a
drunkard
.
They
all
drink
,
but
they
taboo
a
drunkard
.
He
had
become
a
slave
to
it
—
hopeless
and
helpless
.
Then
she
stepped
in
,
saw
the
possibilities
of
a
fine
man
in
the
wreck
,
took
her
chance
in
marrying
him
though
she
might
have
had
the
pick
of
a
dozen
,
and
,
by
devoting
her
life
to
it
,
brought
him
back
to
manhood
and
decency
.
You
have
observed
that
no
liquor
is
ever
kept
in
the
house
.
There
never
has
been
any
since
her
foot
crossed
its
threshold
.
A
drop
of
it
would
be
like
blood
to
a
tiger
even
now
.
"
"
Then
her
influence
still
holds
him
?
"
"
That
is
the
wonder
of
it
.
When
she
died
three
years
ago
,
we
all
expected
and
feared
that
he
would
fall
back
into
his
old
ways
.
She
feared
it
herself
,
and
the
thought
gave
a
terror
to
death
,
for
she
was
like
a
guardian
angel
to
that
man
,
and
lived
only
for
the
one
purpose
.
By
the
way
,
did
you
see
a
black
japanned
box
in
his
room
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
I
fancy
it
contains
her
letters
.
If
ever
he
has
occasion
to
be
away
,
if
only
for
a
single
night
,
he
invariably
takes
his
black
japanned
box
with
him
.
Well
,
well
,
Colmore
,
perhaps
I
have
told
you
rather
more
than
I
should
,
but
I
shall
expect
you
to
reciprocate
if
anything
of
interest
should
come
to
your
knowledge
.
"
I
could
see
that
the
worthy
man
was
consumed
with
curiosity
and
just
a
little
piqued
that
I
,
the
newcomer
,
should
have
been
the
first
to
penetrate
into
the
untrodden
chamber
.
But
the
fact
raised
me
in
his
esteem
,
and
from
that
time
onwards
I
found
myself
upon
more
confidential
terms
with
him
.
And
now
the
silent
and
majestic
figure
of
my
employer
became
an
object
of
greater
interest
to
me
.
I
began
to
understand
that
strangely
human
look
in
his
eyes
,
those
deep
lines
upon
his
care
-
worn
face
.
He
was
a
man
who
was
fighting
a
ceaseless
battle
,
holding
at
arm
’
s
length
,
from
morning
till
night
,
a
horrible
adversary
who
was
forever
trying
to
close
with
him
—
an
adversary
which
would
destroy
him
body
and
soul
could
it
but
fix
its
claws
once
more
upon
him
.
As
I
watched
the
grim
,
round
-
backed
figure
pacing
the
corridor
or
walking
in
the
garden
,
this
imminent
danger
seemed
to
take
bodily
shape
,
and
I
could
almost
fancy
that
I
saw
this
most
loathsome
and
dangerous
of
all
the
fiends
crouching
closely
in
his
very
shadow
,
like
a
half
-
cowed
beast
which
slinks
beside
its
keeper
,
ready
at
any
unguarded
moment
to
spring
at
his
throat
.
And
the
dead
woman
,
the
woman
who
had
spent
her
life
in
warding
off
this
danger
,
took
shape
also
to
my
imagination
,
and
I
saw
her
as
a
shadowy
but
beautiful
presence
which
intervened
for
ever
with
arms
uplifted
to
screen
the
man
whom
she
loved
.
In
some
subtle
way
he
divined
the
sympathy
which
I
had
for
him
,
and
he
showed
in
his
own
silent
fashion
that
he
appreciated
it
.
He
even
invited
me
once
to
share
his
afternoon
walk
,
and
although
no
word
passed
between
us
on
this
occasion
,
it
was
a
mark
of
confidence
which
he
had
never
shown
to
anyone
before
.
He
asked
me
also
to
index
his
library
(
it
was
one
of
the
best
private
libraries
in
England
)
,
and
I
spent
many
hours
in
the
evening
in
his
presence
,
if
not
in
his
society
,
he
reading
at
his
desk
and
I
sitting
in
a
recess
by
the
window
reducing
to
order
the
chaos
which
existed
among
his
books
.
In
spite
of
these
close
relations
I
was
never
again
asked
to
enter
the
chamber
in
the
turret
.
And
then
came
my
revulsion
of
feeling
.
A
single
incident
changed
all
my
sympathy
to
loathing
,
and
made
me
realize
that
my
employer
still
remained
all
that
he
had
ever
been
,
with
the
additional
vice
of
hypocrisy
.
What
happened
was
as
follows
.
