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- Мари Корелли
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And
I
waited
with
enforced
composure
,
while
my
instructions
were
carried
out
as
rapidly
as
possible
.
Two
of
the
men-servants
appeared
with
the
necessary
tools
,
and
very
soon
the
house
resounded
with
clamour
--
blow
after
blow
was
dealt
upon
the
solid
oaken
door
for
some
time
without
success
--
the
spring
lock
would
not
yield
--
neither
would
the
strong
hinges
give
way
.
Presently
however
,
after
ten
minutes
'
hard
labour
,
one
of
the
finely
carved
panels
was
smashed
in
--
then
another
--
and
,
springing
over
the
débris
I
rushed
through
the
ante-room
into
the
boudoir
--
then
paused
,
listening
,
and
calling
again
,
"
Sibyl
!
"
No
one
followed
me
--
some
indefinable
instinct
,
some
nameless
dread
,
held
the
servants
back
,
and
Mavis
Clare
as
well
.
I
was
alone
,
...
and
in
complete
darkness
.
Groping
about
,
with
my
heart
beating
furiously
,
I
sought
for
the
ivory
button
in
the
wall
which
would
,
at
pressure
,
flood
the
rooms
with
electric
light
,
but
somehow
I
could
not
find
it
.
My
hand
came
in
contact
with
various
familiar
things
which
I
recognised
by
touch
--
rare
bits
of
china
,
bronzes
,
vases
,
pictures
--
costly
trifles
that
were
heaped
up
as
I
knew
,
in
this
particular
apartment
with
a
lavish
luxury
and
disregard
of
cost
befitting
a
wanton
eastern
empress
of
old
time
--
cautiously
feeling
my
way
along
,
I
started
with
terror
to
see
,
as
I
thought
,
a
tall
figure
outline
itself
suddenly
against
the
darkness
--
white
,
spectral
and
luminous
--
a
figure
that
,
as
I
stared
at
it
aghast
,
raised
a
pallid
hand
and
pointed
me
forward
with
a
menacing
air
of
scorn
!
In
my
dazed
horror
at
this
apparition
,
or
delusion
,
I
stumbled
over
the
heavy
trailing
folds
of
a
velvet
portiére
,
and
knew
by
this
that
I
had
passed
from
the
boudoir
into
the
adjoining
bedroom
.
Again
I
stopped
--
calling
"
Sibyl
!
"
but
my
voice
had
scarcely
strength
enough
to
raise
itself
above
a
whisper
.
Giddy
and
confused
as
I
was
,
I
remembered
that
the
electric
light
in
this
room
was
fixed
at
the
side
of
the
toilet-table
,
and
I
stepped
hurriedly
in
that
direction
,
when
all
at
once
in
the
thick
gloom
I
touched
something
clammy
and
cold
like
dead
flesh
,
and
brushed
against
a
garment
that
exhaled
faint
perfume
,
and
rustled
at
my
touch
with
a
silken
sound
.
This
alarmed
me
more
thoroughly
than
the
spectre
I
fancied
I
had
just
seen
--
I
drew
back
shudderingly
against
the
wall
--
and
in
so
doing
,
my
fingers
involuntarily
closed
on
the
polished
ivory
stud
which
,
like
a
fairy
talisman
in
modern
civilization
,
emits
radiance
at
the
owner
's
will
.
I
pressed
it
nervously
--
the
light
blazed
forth
through
the
rose-tinted
shells
which
shaded
its
dazzling
clearness
,
and
showed
me
where
I
stood
,
...
within
an
arm
's
length
of
a
strange
,
stiff
white
creature
that
sat
staring
at
itself
in
the
silver-framed
mirror
with
wide-open
,
fixed
and
glassy
eyes
!
"
Sibyl
!
"
I
gasped
--
"
My
wife
...
!
"
but
the
words
died
chokingly
in
my
throat
.
Was
it
indeed
my
wife
?
--
this
frozen
statue
of
a
woman
,
watching
her
own
impassive
image
thus
intently
?
I
looked
upon
her
wonderingly
--
doubtingly
--
as
if
she
were
some
stranger
;
--
it
took
me
time
to
recognize
her
features
,
and
the
bronze-gold
darkness
of
her
long
hair
which
fell
loosely
about
her
in
a
lavish
wealth
of
rippling
waves
,
...
her
left
hand
hung
limply
over
the
arm
of
the
chair
in
which
,
like
some
carven
ivory
goddess
,
she
sat
enthroned
--
and
tremblingly
,
slowly
,
reluctantly
,
I
advanced
and
took
that
hand
.
Cold
as
ice
it
lay
in
my
palm
much
as
though
it
were
a
waxen
model
of
itself
;
--
it
glittered
with
jewels
--
and
I
studied
every
ring
upon
it
with
a
curious
,
dull
pertinacity
,
like
one
who
seeks
a
clue
to
identity
.
That
large
turquoise
in
a
diamond
setting
was
a
marriage-gift
from
a
duchess
--
that
opal
her
father
gave
her
--
the
lustrous
circle
of
sapphires
and
brilliants
surmounting
her
wedding-ring
was
my
gift
--
that
ruby
I
seemed
to
know
--
--
well
,
well
!
what
a
mass
of
sparkling
value
wasted
on
such
fragile
clay
!
I
peered
into
her
face
--
then
at
the
reflection
of
that
face
in
the
mirror
--
and
again
I
grew
perplexed
--
was
it
,
could
it
be
Sibyl
after
all
?
Sibyl
was
beautiful
--
this
dead
thing
had
a
devilish
smile
on
its
blue
,
parted
lips
,
and
frenzied
horror
in
its
eyes
!
Suddenly
something
tense
in
my
brain
seemed
to
snap
and
give
way
--
dropping
the
chill
fingers
I
held
,
I
cried
aloud
--
"
Mavis
!
Mavis
Clare
!
"
In
a
moment
she
was
with
me
--
in
a
glance
she
comprehended
all
.
Falling
on
her
knees
by
the
dead
woman
she
broke
into
a
passion
of
weeping
.
"
Oh
,
poor
girl
!
"
she
cried
--
"
Oh
,
poor
,
unhappy
,
misguided
girl
!
"
I
stared
at
her
gloomily
.
It
seemed
to
me
very
strange
that
she
should
weep
for
sorrows
not
her
own
.
There
was
a
fire
in
my
brain
--
a
confused
trouble
in
my
thoughts
--
I
looked
at
my
dead
wife
with
her
fixed
gaze
and
evil
smile
,
sitting
rigidly
upright
,
and
robed
in
the
mocking
sheen
of
her
rose-silk
peignoir
,
showered
with
old
lace
,
after
the
costliest
of
Paris
fashions
--
then
at
the
living
,
tender-souled
,
earnest
creature
,
famed
for
her
genius
throughout
the
world
,
who
knelt
on
the
ground
,
sobbing
over
the
stiffening
hand
on
which
so
many
rare
gems
glistened
derisively
--
and
an
impulse
rose
in
me
stronger
than
myself
,
moving
me
to
wild
and
clamorous
speech
.
