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- Мари Корелли
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I
have
called
her
'
Mother
!
Mother
!
'
but
no
sound
issues
from
her
white
lips
.
Her
face
is
so
appalling
that
I
was
seized
with
a
convulsion
of
terror
a
moment
ago
and
fell
on
my
knees
before
her
imploring
her
to
leave
me
--
and
then
she
paused
in
her
gliding
to
and
fro
and
--
smiled
!
What
a
hideous
smile
it
was
!
I
think
I
lost
consciousness
,
...
for
I
found
myself
lying
on
the
ground
.
A
sharp
and
terrible
pain
running
through
me
made
me
spring
to
my
feet
,
...
and
I
bit
my
lips
till
they
bled
,
lest
I
should
scream
aloud
with
the
agony
I
suffered
and
so
alarm
the
house
.
When
the
paroxysm
passed
I
saw
my
mother
standing
quite
near
to
me
,
dumbly
watching
me
with
a
strange
expression
of
wonder
and
remorse
.
I
tottered
past
her
and
back
to
this
chair
where
I
now
sit
--
--
I
am
calmer
now
,
and
I
am
able
to
realize
that
she
is
only
the
phantom
of
my
own
brain
--
that
I
fancy
she
is
here
while
knowing
she
is
dead
.
·
·
·
·
·
Torture
indescribable
has
made
of
me
a
writhing
,
moaning
,
helpless
creature
for
the
past
few
minutes
.
Truly
that
drug
was
deadly
;
--
the
pain
is
horrible
...
horrible
!
...
it
has
left
me
quivering
in
every
limb
and
palpitating
in
every
nerve
.
Looking
at
my
face
in
the
glass
I
see
that
it
has
already
altered
.
It
is
drawn
and
livid
--
all
the
fresh
rose-tint
of
my
lips
has
gone
--
my
eyes
protrude
unnaturally
,
...
there
are
dull
blue
marks
at
the
corners
of
my
mouth
and
in
the
hollows
of
my
temples
,
and
I
observe
a
curious
quick
pulsation
in
the
veins
of
my
throat
.
Be
my
torment
what
it
will
,
now
there
is
no
remedy
--
and
I
am
resolved
to
sit
here
and
study
my
own
features
to
the
end
.
'
The
reaper
whose
name
is
Death
'
must
surely
be
near
,
ready
to
gather
my
long
hair
in
his
skeleton
hand
like
a
sheaf
of
ripe
corn
,
...
my
poor
beautiful
hair
!
--
how
I
have
loved
its
glistening
ripples
,
and
brushed
it
,
and
twined
it
round
my
fingers
,
...
and
how
soon
it
will
lie
like
a
dank
weed
in
the
mould
!
·
·
·
·
·
A
devouring
fire
is
in
my
brain
and
body
--
I
am
burning
with
heat
and
parched
with
thirst
--
I
have
drunk
deep
draughts
of
cold
water
,
but
this
has
not
relieved
me
.
The
sun
glares
in
upon
me
like
an
open
furnace
--
I
have
tried
to
rise
and
close
the
blind
against
it
,
but
find
I
have
no
force
to
stand
upright
.
The
strong
radiance
blinds
me
:
--
the
silver
toilet
boxes
on
my
table
glitter
like
so
many
points
of
swords
.
It
is
by
a
powerful
effort
of
will
that
I
am
able
to
continue
writing
--
my
head
is
swimming
round
--
and
there
is
a
choking
sensation
in
my
throat
.
·
·
·
·
·
A
moment
since
I
thought
I
was
dying
.
Torn
asunder
as
it
were
by
the
most
torturing
pangs
,
I
could
have
screamed
for
help
--
and
would
have
done
so
,
had
voice
been
left
me
.
But
I
can
not
speak
above
a
whisper
--
I
mutter
my
own
name
to
myself
'
Sibyl
!
Sibyl
!
'
and
can
scarcely
hear
it
.
My
mother
stands
beside
me
--
apparently
waiting
;
--
a
little
while
ago
I
thought
I
heard
her
say
'
Come
,
Sibyl
!
Come
to
your
chosen
lover
!
'
Now
I
am
conscious
of
a
great
silence
everywhere
--
a
numbness
has
fallen
upon
me
,
and
a
delicious
respite
from
pain
--
but
I
see
my
face
in
the
glass
and
know
it
is
the
face
of
the
dead
.
It
will
soon
be
all
over
--
a
few
more
uneasy
breathings
--
and
I
shall
be
at
rest
.
I
am
glad
--
for
the
world
and
I
were
never
good
friends
;
--
I
am
sure
that
if
we
could
know
,
before
we
were
born
,
what
life
really
is
,
we
should
never
take
the
trouble
to
live
!
·
·
·
·
·
A
horrible
fear
has
suddenly
beset
me
.
What
if
death
were
not
what
the
scientists
deem
it
--
suppose
it
were
another
form
of
life
?
Can
it
be
that
I
am
losing
reason
and
courage
together
?
...
or
what
is
this
terrible
misgiving
that
is
taking
possession
of
me
?
...
I
begin
to
falter
...
a
strange
sense
of
horror
is
creeping
over
me
...
I
have
no
more
physical
pain
,
but
something
worse
than
pain
oppresses
me
...
a
feeling
that
I
can
not
define
.
I
am
dying
...
dying
!
--
I
repeat
this
to
myself
for
comfort
,
...
in
a
little
while
I
shall
be
deaf
and
blind
and
unconscious
,
...
why
then
is
the
silence
around
me
now
broken
through
by
sound
?
I
listen
--
and
I
hear
distinctly
the
clamour
of
wild
voices
mingled
with
a
sullen
jar
and
roll
as
of
distant
thunder
!
...
My
mother
stands
closer
to
me
,
...
she
is
stretching
out
her
hand
to
touch
mine
!
·
·
·
·
·
·
·
·
·
·
Oh
God
!
...
Let
me
write
--
write
--
while
I
can
!
Let
me
yet
hold
fast
the
thread
which
fastens
me
to
earth
--
give
me
time
--
time
before
I
drift
out
,
lost
in
yonder
blackness
and
flame
!
Let
me
write
for
others
the
awful
Truth
,
as
I
see
it
--
there
is
No
death
!
None
--
none
!
--
I
can
not
die
.
I
am
passing
out
of
my
body
--
I
am
being
wrenched
away
from
it
inch
by
inch
in
inexplicable
mystic
torture
--
but
I
am
not
dying
--
I
am
being
carried
forward
into
a
new
life
,
vague
and
vast
!
...
I
see
a
new
world
full
of
dark
forms
,
half
shaped
yet
shapeless
!
--
they
float
towards
me
,
beckoning
me
on
.
I
am
actively
conscious
--
I
hear
,
I
think
,
I
know
!
Death
is
a
mere
human
dream
--
a
comforting
fancy
;
it
has
no
real
existence
--
there
is
nothing
in
the
Universe
but
life
!
O
hideous
misery
!
--
I
can
not
die
!
In
my
mortal
body
I
can
scarcely
breathe
--
the
pen
I
try
to
hold
writes
of
itself
rather
than
through
my
shaking
hand
--
but
these
pangs
are
the
throes
of
birth
--
not
death
!
...
I
hold
back
--
with
all
the
force
of
my
soul
I
strive
not
to
plunge
into
that
black
abyss
I
see
before
me
--
but
--
my
mother
drags
me
with
her
--
I
can
not
shake
her
off
!
I
hear
her
voice
now
;
--
she
speaks
distinctly
,
and
laughs
as
though
she
wept
;
'
Come
Sibyl
!
Soul
of
the
child
I
bore
,
come
and
meet
your
lover
!
Come
and
see
upon
WHOM
you
fixed
your
faith
!
Soul
of
the
woman
I
trained
,
return
to
that
from
whence
you
came
!
'
Still
I
hold
back
--
nude
and
trembling
I
stare
into
a
dark
void
--
and
now
there
are
wings
about
me
--
wings
of
fiery
scarlet
!
--
they
fill
the
space
--
they
enfold
me
--
they
propel
me
--
they
rush
past
and
whirl
around
me
,
stinging
me
as
with
flying
arrows
and
showers
of
hail
!
