THE 
 
 SORROWS 
 OF SATAN 
 
 MARIE CORELLI 
 
V 
 
'^ 
 
 ^J 
 
:B^ /Bbarie Corclli. 
 
 BARABBAS. 
 
 A DREAM OF THE WOKLd's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Tall 1 2 mo. Cloth, Ji.oo. 
 
 "It is a powerfully told story." — I\^e2V York Inde- 
 pendent. 
 
 "Tragic intensity and imaginative vigor* are the fea- 
 tures oi this powerful laXe."— Philadelphia Public 
 Ledger. 
 
 " Vividly told, historically correct, as to its settings, it 
 carries the reader entranced through its swift panorama 
 of events." — Louisville Christian Observer. 
 
 " By most secular critics the authoress was accused of 
 bad taste, bad art, and gross blasphemy ; but, in curious 
 contrast, most of the religious papers acknowledged the 
 reverence of treatment and the dignity of conception 
 which characterized the work." — London AthencButn. 
 
 VENDETTA; 
 
 Or, The Story of One Forgotten. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1 .00. 
 
 " It is a thrilling and irresistibly charming book." — 
 Baltimore American. 
 
 " A romance, but a romance of reality. No mind of 
 man can imagine incidents so wonderful, so amazing as 
 those of actual occurrence." — Washington National 
 Republican. 
 
The Sorrows of Satjn 
 
 OR 
 
 THE STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF ONE 
 GEOFFREY TEMPEST, MILLIONAIRE 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 By 
 
 Marie Corelli 
 
 AUTHOR OF " BARA 
 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 J, B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 1896 
 
Copyright, 1895, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 
 
K^ U^ ' 
 
 ri7£ SORROWS OFSJiTAN 
 
 Do you know what it is to be poor ? Not poor with the 
 arrogant poverty complained of by certain people who have 
 five or six thousand a year to live upon, and who yet swear 
 they can hardly manage to make both ends meet, but really 
 poor, — downright, cruelly, hideously poor, with a poverty 
 that is graceless, sordid and miserable? Poverty that com- 
 pels you to dress in your one suit of clothes till it is worn 
 threadbare, — that denies you clean linen on account of the 
 ruinous charges of washerwomen, — that robs you of your own 
 self-respect and causes you to slink along the streets vaguely 
 abashed, instead of walking erect among your fellow-men 
 in independent ease, — this is the sort of poverty I mean. 
 This is the grinding curse that keeps down noble aspiration 
 under a load of ignoble care ; this is the moral cancer that 
 eats into the heart of an otherwise well-intentioned human 
 creature and makes him envious and malignant, and inclined 
 to the use of dynamite. When he sees the fat idle woman of 
 society passing by in her luxurious carriage, lolling back 
 lazily, her face mottled with the purple and red signs of super- 
 fluous eating, — when he observes the brainless and sensual 
 man of fashion smoking and dawdling away the hours in the 
 Park as if all the world and its millions of honest hard workers 
 were created solely for the casual diversion of the so-called 
 * upper' classes, — then the good blood in him turns to gall 
 and his suffering spirit rises in fierce rebellion crying out — 
 ''Why in God's name, should this injustice be? Why 
 should a worthless lounger have his pockets full of gold by 
 
 i^ 5 
 
 IS~\ C^ -r^ p^ ^} /i 
 
6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 mere chance and heritage, while I, toihng wearily from morn 
 till midnight, can scarce afford myself a satisfying meal?" 
 ' • .Why indeed -I . Why should the wicked flourish like a green 
 bay-tree ?'♦' I ' Ka^Je ' <!>ften thought about it. Now however 
 J .l;)e4i?;ve.I-cpul^ X^lp'to solve the problem out of my own 
 personal- 'experience.'- '-But . . . such an experience! Who 
 will credit it? Who will believe that anything so strange 
 and terrific ever chanced to the lot of a mortal man ? No 
 one. Yet it is true ; — truer than much so-called truth. More- 
 over I know that many men are living through many such in- 
 cidents as have occurred to me, under precisely the same influ- 
 ence, conscious perhaps at times that they are in the tangles 
 of sin, but too weak of will to break the net in which they 
 have become voluntarily imprisoned. Will they be taught, I 
 wonder, the lesson I have learned ? In the same bitter school, 
 under the same formidable taskmaster? Will they realize as 
 I have been forced to do, — aye, to the very fibres of my in- 
 tellectual perception, — the vast, individual, active Mind, which 
 behind all matter, works unceasingly, though silently, a very 
 eternal and positive God? If so, then dark problems will 
 become clear to them, and what seems injustice in the world 
 will prove pure equity ! But I do not write with any hope 
 of either persuading or enlightening my fellow-men. I know 
 their obstinacy too well; — I can gauge it by my own. My 
 proud belief in myself was, at one time, not to be outdone by 
 any human unit on the face of the globe. And I am aware 
 that others are in similar case. I merely intend to relate the 
 various incidents of my career in due order exactly as they 
 happened, — leaving to more confident heads the business of 
 propounding and answering the riddles of human existence as 
 best they may. 
 
 During a certain bitter winter, long remembered for its 
 arctic severity, when a great wave of intense cold spread 
 freezing influences not alone over the happy isles of Britain, 
 but throughout all Europe, I, Geoffrey Tempest, was alone in 
 London and well-nigh starving. Now a starving man seldom 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 7 
 
 gets the sympathy he merits, — so few can be persuaded to 
 believe in him. Worthy folks who have just fed to repletion 
 are the most incredulous, some of them being even moved to 
 smile when told of existing hungry people, much as if these 
 were occasional jests invented for after-dinner amusement. 
 Or, with that irritating vagueness of attention which character- 
 izes fashionable folk to such an extent that when asking a 
 question they neither wait for the answer nor understand it 
 when given, the well-dined groups, hearing of some one starved 
 to death will idly murmur ' How dreadful !' and at once turn 
 to the discussion of the latest ' fad' for killing time, ere it 
 takes to killing them with sheer ennui. The pronounced fact 
 of being hungry sounds coarse and common, and is not a topic 
 for polite society, which always eats more than sufficient for 
 its needs. At the period I am speaking of however, I, who 
 have since been one of the most envied of men, knew the cruel 
 meaning of the word hunger too well, — the gnawing pain, 
 the sick faintness, the deadly stupor, the insatiable animal 
 craving for mere food, all of which sensations are frightful 
 enough to those who are, unhappily, daily inured to them, 
 but which when they afflict one who has been tenderly reared 
 and brought up to consider himself a 'gentleman,' — God 
 save the mark ! are perhaps still more painful to bear. And 
 I felt that I had not deserved to suffer the wretchedness in 
 which I found myself. I had worked hard. From the time 
 my father died, leaving me to discover that every penny of 
 the fortune I imagined he possessed was due to swarming 
 creditors, and that nothing of all our house and estate was left 
 to me except a jewelled miniature of my mother who had lost 
 her own life in giving me birth, — from that time I say, I had 
 put my shoulder to the wheel and toiled late and early. I had 
 turned my University education to the only use for which it 
 or I seemed fitted, — literature. I had sought for employment 
 on almost every journal in London, — refused by many, taken 
 on trial by some, but getting steady pay from none. Who- 
 ever seeks to live by brain and pen alone is, at the beginning 
 
8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 of such a career, treated as a sort of social pariah. Nobody- 
 wants him, — everybody despises him. His efforts are derided, 
 his manuscripts are flung back to him unread, and he is less 
 cared for than the condemned murderer in gaol. The mur- 
 derer is at least fed and clothed, — a worthy clergyman visits 
 him, and his gaoler will occasionally condescend to play cards 
 with him. But a man gifted with original thoughts and the 
 power of expressing them, appears to be regarded by everyone 
 in authority as much worse than the worst criminal, and all 
 the * jacks-in-ofifice' unite to kick him to death if they can. I 
 took both kicks and blows in a sullen silence and lived on, — 
 not for the love of life, but simply because I scorned the 
 cowardice of self-destruction. I was young enough not to 
 part with hope too easily ; — the vague idea I had that my 
 turn would come, — that the ever-circling wheel of Fortune 
 would perchance lift me up some day as it now crushed me 
 down, kept me just wearily capable of continuing existence, — 
 though it was merely a continuance and no more. For about 
 six months I got some reviewing work on a w^ell-known 
 literary journal. Thirty novels a week were sent to me to 
 ' criticise,' — I made a habit of glancing hastily at about eight 
 or ten of them, and writing one column of rattling abuse con- 
 cerning these thus casually selected, — the remainder were 
 never noticed at all. I found that this mode of action was 
 considered ' smart, ' and I managed for a time to please my 
 editor who paid me the munificent sum of fifteen shillings for 
 my weekly labour. But on one fatal occasion I happened to 
 change my tactics and warmly praised a work which my own 
 conscience told me was both original and excellent. The 
 author of it happened to be an old enemy of the proprietor of 
 the journal on which I was employed ; — my eulogistic review 
 of the hated individual, unfortunately for me, appeared, with 
 the result that private spite outweighed public justice and I 
 was immediately dismissed. 
 
 After this I dragged on in a sufficiently miserable way, 
 doing ' hack work' for the dailies, and living on promises 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 9 
 
 that never became realities, till, as I have said, in the early 
 January of the bitter winter alluded to, I found myself literally 
 penniless and face to face with starvation, owing a month's 
 rent besides for the poor lodging I occupied in a back street 
 not far from the British Museum. I had been out all day 
 trudging from one newspaper office to another, seeking for 
 work and finding none. Every available post was filled. I 
 had also tried, unsuccessfully, to dispose of a manuscript of 
 my own, — a work of fiction which I knew had some merit, 
 but which all the ' readers' in the publishing offices appeared 
 to find exceptionally worthless. These 'readers', I learned, 
 were most of them novelists themselves, who read other peo- 
 ple's productions in their spare moments and passed judgment 
 on them. I have always failed to see the justice of this 
 arrangement ; to me it seems merely the way to foster me- 
 diocrities and suppress originality. Common sense points 
 out the fact that the novelist ' reader' who has a place to 
 maintain for himself in literature would naturally rather en- 
 courage work that is likely to prove ephemeral, than that 
 which might possibly take a higher footing than his own. 
 Be this as it may, and however good or bad the system, it 
 was entirely prejudicial to me and my literary offspring. The 
 last publisher I tried was a kindly man who looked at my 
 shabby clothes and gaunt face with some commiseration. 
 
 ''I'm sorry," said he, "very sorry, but my readers are 
 quite unanimous. From what I can learn, it seems to me 
 you have been too earnest. And also, rather sarcastic in cer- 
 tain strictures against society. My dear fellow, that won't 
 do. Never blame society, — it buys books ! Now if you 
 could write a smart love-story, slightly risque, — even a little 
 more than risque for that matter, that is the sort of thing 
 that suits the present age." 
 
 "Pardon me," I interposed somewhat wearily — "but are 
 you sure you judge the public taste correctly?" 
 
 He smiled a bland smile of indulgent amusement at what 
 he no doubt considered my ignorance in putting such a query. 
 
10 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 " Of course I am sure," — he replied — '* It is my business 
 ix) know the public taste as thoroughly as I know my own 
 pocket. Understand me, — I don't suggest that you should 
 write a book on any positively indecent subject, — that can be 
 safely left to the 'New' woman," — and he laughed, — *'but I 
 assure you high-class fiction doesn't sell. The critics don't 
 like it to begin with. What goes down with them and with 
 the public is a bit of sensational realism told in terse news- 
 paper English. Literary English, — Addisonian English, — is 
 a mistake." 
 
 "And I am also a mistake I think," I said with a forced 
 smile. — "At any rate if what you say be true, I must lay 
 down the pen and try another trade. I am old-fashioned 
 enough to consider Literature as the highest of all professions, 
 and I would rather not join in with those who voluntarily de- 
 grade it." 
 
 He gave me a quick side-glance of mingled incredulity and 
 depreciation. 
 
 "Well, well!" he finally observed — "you are a little 
 quixotic. That will wear off. Will you come on to my club 
 and dine with me?" 
 
 I refused this invitation promptly. I knew the man saw 
 and recognised my wretched plight, — and pride — false pride 
 if you will — rose up to my rescue. I bade him a hurried 
 good-day, and started back to my lodging, carrying my re- 
 jected manuscript with me. Arrived there, my landlady met 
 me as I was about to ascend the stairs and asked me whether 
 I would ' kindly settle accounts' the next day. She spoke 
 civilly enough, poor soul, and not without a certain compas- 
 sionate hesitation in her manner. Her evident pity for me 
 galled my spirit as much as the publisher's offer of a dinner 
 had wounded my pride, — and with a perfectly audacious air 
 of certainty I at once promised her the money at the time she 
 herself appointed, though I had not the least idea where or 
 how I should get the required sum. Once past her, and shut 
 in my own room, I flung my useless manuscript on the floor 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN ii 
 
 and myself into a chair, and swore. It refreshed me to 
 
 swear and it seemed natural, — for though temporarily weak- 
 ened by lack of food I was not yet so weak as to shed tears, 
 — and a fierce formidable oath was to me the same sort of 
 physical relief which I imagine a fit of weeping may be to an 
 excitable woman. Just as I could not shed tears, so was I 
 incapable of apostrophizing God in my despair. To speak 
 frankly, I did not believe in any God — the?i. I was to myself 
 an all-sufficing mortal, scorning the time-worn superstitions 
 of so-called religion. Of course I had been brought up in the 
 Christian faith ; but that creed had become worse than useless 
 to me since I had intellectually realized the utter inefficiency 
 of Christian ministers to deal with difficult life-problems. 
 Spiritually I was adrift in chaos, — mentally I was hindered 
 both in thought and achievement, — bodily I was reduced to 
 want. My case was desperate, — I myself was desperate. It 
 was a moment when if ever good and evil angels play a game 
 of chance for a man's soul, they were surely throwing the dice 
 on the last wager for mine. And yet, with it all, I felt I had 
 done my best. I was driven into a corner by my fellow-men 
 who grudged me space to live in, but I had fought against 
 it. I had worked honestly and patiently ; — all to no purpose. 
 I knew of rogues who gained plenty of money; and of 
 knaves who were amassing large fortunes. Their prosperity 
 appeared to prove that honesty after all was not the best 
 policy. What should I do then ? How should I begin the 
 Jesuitical business of committing evil that good, personal 
 good, might come of it ? So I thought, dully, if such stray 
 half-stupefied fancies as I was capable of, deserved the name 
 of thought. 
 
 The night was bitter cold. My hands were numbed, and I 
 tried to warm them at the oil-lamp my landlady was good 
 enough to still allow me the use of, in spite of delayed cash- 
 payments. As I did so, I noticed three letters on the table, 
 — one in a long blue envelope suggestive of either a summons 
 or a returned manuscript, — one bearing the Melbourne post- 
 
12 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 mark, and the third a thick square missive coroneted in red 
 and gold at the back. I turned over all three indifferently, 
 and selecting the one from Australia, balanced it in my hand 
 a moment before opening it. I knew from whom it came, and 
 idly wondered what news it brought me. Some months previ- 
 ously I had written a detailed account of my increasing debts 
 and difficulties to an old college chum, who finding England 
 too narrow for his ambition, had gone out to the wider new 
 world on a speculative quest of gold mining. He was getting 
 on well, so I understood, and had secured a fairly substantial 
 position, and I had therefore ventured to ask him point-blank 
 for the loan of fifty pounds. Here, no doubt, was his reply, 
 and I hesitated before breaking the seal. 
 
 '' Of course it will be a refusal," I said half-aloud, — " How- 
 ever kindly a friend may otherwise be, he soon turns crusty if 
 asked to lend money. He will express many regrets, accuse 
 trade and the general bad times, and hope I will soon ' tide 
 over.' I know the sort of thing. Well, — after all, why 
 should I expect him to be different to other men? I've no 
 claim on him beyond the memory of a few sentimental arm- 
 in-arm days at Oxford." 
 
 A sigh escaped me in spite of myself, and a mist blurred 
 my sight for the moment. Again I saw the grey towers of 
 peaceful Magdalen, and the fair green trees shading the walks 
 in and around the dear old University town where we, — I and 
 the man whose letter I now held in my hand, strolled about 
 together as happy youths, fancying that we were young geniuses 
 born to regenerate the world. We were both fond of classics, 
 — we were brimful of Homer and the thoughts and maxims of 
 all the immortal Greeks and Latins, — and I verily believe in 
 those imaginative days we thought we had in us such stuff as 
 heroes are made of. But our entrance into the social arena 
 soon robbed us of our sublime conceit, — we were common 
 working units, no more, — the grind and prose of daily life put 
 Homer into the background, and we soon discovered that 
 society was more interested in the latest unsavoury scandal 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 13 
 
 than in the tragedies of Sophocles or the wisdom of Plato. 
 Well ! it was no doubt extremely foolish of us to dream that 
 we might help to regenerate a world in which both Plato and 
 Christ appear to have failed, — yet the most hardened cynic 
 will scarcely deny that it is pleasant to look back to the days 
 of his youth if he can think that at least then, if only once in 
 his life, he had noble impulses. 
 
 The lamp burned badly, and I had to re-trim it before I 
 could settle down to read my friend's letter. Next door some- 
 one was playing a violin, and playing it well. Tenderly and 
 yet with a certain amount of brio the notes came dancing from 
 the bow, and I listened, vaguely pleased. Being faint with 
 hunger I was somewhat in a listless state bordering on stupor, 
 — and the penetrating sweetness of the music appealing to the 
 sensuous and aesthetic part of me, drowned for the moment 
 mere animal craving. 
 
 *' There you go !" I murmured, apostrophizing the unseen 
 musician, — ''practising away on that friendly fiddle of yours, 
 — no doubt for a mere pittance which barely keeps you alive. 
 Possibly you are some poor wretch in a cheap orchestra, — 
 or you might even be a street-player and be able to live in 
 this neighbourhood of the elite starving, — you can have no 
 hope whatever of being the ' fashion' and making your bow 
 before Royalty, — or if you have that hope it is wildly mis- 
 placed. Play on, my friend, play on ! — the sounds you make 
 are very agreeable and seem to imply that you are happy. I 
 wonder if you are ? — or if, like me, you are going rapidly to 
 the devil ! ' ' 
 
 The music grew softer and more plaintive and was now ac- 
 companied by the rattle of hailstones against the window- 
 panes. A gusty wind whistled under the door and roared 
 down the chimney, — a wind cold as the grasp of death and 
 searching as a probing knife. I shivered, — and bending close 
 over the smoky lamp, prepared to read my Australian news. 
 As I opened the envelope, a bill for fifty pounds, payable to 
 me at a well-known London banker's, fell out upon the table. 
 
14 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 My heart gave a quick bound of mingled relief and grati- 
 tude. 
 
 ''Why Jack, old fellow, I wronged you!" I exclaimed, — 
 " your heart is in the right place after all. " 
 
 And profoundly touched by my friend's ready generosity, 
 I eagerly perused his letter. It was not very long and had 
 evidently been written off in haste. 
 
 " Dear Geoff, 
 
 I'm sorry to hear you are down on 
 your luck ; it shows what a crop of fools are still flourishing 
 in London, when a man of your capability cannot gain his 
 proper place in the world of letters, and be fittingly acknow- 
 ledged. I believe it's all a question of wire-pulling, and 
 money is the only thing that will pull the wires. Here's the 
 fifty you ask for and welcome, — don't hurry about paying it 
 back. I am doing you a good turn this year by sending you 
 a friend, — a real friend mind you ! — no sham. He brings you 
 a letter of introduction from me, and between ourselves, old 
 man, you cannot do better than put yourself and your literary 
 affairs entirely in his hands. He knows everybody, and is up 
 to all the dodges of editorial management and newspaper 
 cliques. He is a great philanthropist besides, — and seems 
 particularly fond of the society of the clergy. Rather a queer 
 taste you will say, but his reason for such preference is, as he 
 has explained to me quite frankly, that he is so enormously 
 wealthy that he does not quite know what to do with his 
 money, and the reverend gentlemen of the church are gener- 
 ally ready to show him how to spend some of it. He is 
 always glad to know of some quarter where his money and 
 influence (he is very influential) may be useful to others. He 
 has helped me out of a very serious hobble, and I owe him a 
 big debt of gratitude. I've told him all about you, — what a 
 smart fellow you are, and what a lot dear old Alma Mater 
 thought of you, and he has promised to give you a lift up. 
 He can do anything he likes ; very naturally, seeing that the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ^5 
 
 whole world of morals, civilization and the rest is subservient 
 to the power of money, — and his stock of cash appears to be 
 limitless. Use him; he is willing and ready to be used, — 
 and write and let me know how you get on. Don't bother 
 about the fifty till you feel you have tided over the storm. 
 
 Ever yours 
 
 ''BOFFLES." 
 
 I laughed as I read the absurd signature, though my eyes 
 were dim with something like tears. '"Boffles' was the nick- 
 name given to my friend by several of our college companions, 
 and neither he nor I knew how it first arose. But no one 
 except the dons ever addressed him by his proper name, 
 which was John Carrington, — he was simply 'Boffles,' and 
 Boffles he remained even now for all those who had been his 
 intimates. I refolded and put by his letter and the draft for 
 the fifty pounds, and with a passing vague wonder as to 
 what manner of man the ' philanthropist' might be who had 
 more money than he knew what to do with, I turned to the 
 consideration of my other two correspondents, relieved to feel 
 that now, whatever happened, I could settle up arrears with 
 my landlady the next day as I had promised. Moreover I 
 could order some supper, and have a fire lit to cheer my 
 chilly room. Before attending to these creature comforts 
 however, I opened the long blue envelope that looked so like 
 a threat of legal proceedings, and unfolding the paper within, 
 stared at it amazedly. What was it all about ? — The written 
 characters danced before my eyes, — puzzled and bewildered, 
 I found myself reading the thing over and over again with- 
 out any clear comprehension of it. Presently a glimmer of 
 meaning flashed upon me, startling my senses like an electric 
 shock, . . . no — no — ! — impossible ! Fortune never could 
 be so mad as this ! — never so wildly capricious and grotesque 
 of humour ! It was some senseless hoax that was being prac- 
 tised upon me, . . . and yet, ... if it were a joke it was 
 a very elaberate and remarkable one ! Weighted with the 
 
i6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 majesty of the law too ! . . . Upon my word and by all the 
 fantastical freakish destinies that govern human affairs, the 
 news seemed actually positive and genuine ! 
 
 II 
 
 Steadying my thoughts with an effort, I read every word 
 of the document over again deliberately, and the stupefaction 
 of my wonder increased. Was I going mad, or sickening for 
 a fever? Or could this startling, this stupendous piece of 
 information be really true? Because, — if indeed it were 
 true, . . . good heavens ! — I turned giddy to think of it, 
 and it was only by sheer force of will that I kept myself from 
 swooning with the agitation of such sudden surprise and 
 ecstasy. If it were true — why then the world was mine ! 
 — I was king instead of beggar; — I was everything I chose to 
 be ! The letter, — the amazing letter, bore the printed name 
 of a noted firm of London solicitors, and stated in measured 
 and precise terms that a distant relative of my father's, of 
 whom I had scarcely heard, except remotely now and then 
 during my boyhood, had died suddenly in South America 
 leaving me his sole heir. 
 
 " The real and personal estate now amounting to something 
 over Five Millions of Pounds Sterlings we should esteem it a 
 favour if you could make it convenient to call upon us ajty day 
 this week in order that we may go through the necessary for- 
 malities together. The larger bulk of the cash is lodged in 
 the Bank of England, and a cofisiderable amount is placed 
 in French governinent securities. We should prefer going 
 into further details with you personally rather than by letter. 
 Trustiftg you will call on us without delay, we are, Sir, yours 
 obediently ..." 
 
 Five Millions !...!, the starving literary hack, — the 
 friendless, hopeless, almost reckless haunter of low newspaper 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 17 
 
 dens — I, the possessor of "over Five Millions of Pounds 
 sterling" ! I tried to grasp the astounding fact, — for fact it 
 evidently was, — but could not. It seemed to me a wild 
 delusion, born of the dizzy vagueness which lack of food 
 engendered in my brain. I stared round the room ; — the 
 mean miserable furniture, — the fireless grate, — the dirty lamp, 
 — the low truckle bedstead, — the evidences of penury and 
 want on every side ; — and then, — then the overwhelming con- 
 trast between the poverty that environed me and the news I 
 had just received, struck me as the wildest, most ridiculous 
 incongruity I had ever heard of or imagined, — and I gave 
 vent to a shout of laughter. 
 
 '' Was there ever such a caprice of mad Fortune !" I cried 
 aloud — " Who would have imagined it ! Good God ! I ! I, 
 of all men in the world to be suddenly chosen out for this 
 luck! By Heaven! — If it is all true I'll make society spin 
 round like a top on my hand before I am many months 
 older!" 
 
 And I laughed loudly again ; laughed just as I had pre- 
 viously sworn, simply by way of relief to my feelings. Some 
 one laughed in answer, — a laugh that seemed to echo mine. 
 I checked myself abruptly, somewhat startled, and listened. 
 Rain poured outside, and the wind shrieked like a petulant 
 shrew, — the violinist next door was practising a brilliant 
 roulade up and down his instrument, — but there were no 
 other sounds than these. Yet I could have sworn I heard 
 a man's deep-chested laughter close behind me where I 
 stood. 
 
 "It must have been my fancy," I murmured, turning the 
 flame of the lamp up higher in order to obtain more light in 
 the room — "I am nervous I suppose, — no wonder! Poor 
 Boffles ! — good old chap!" I continued, remembering my 
 friend's draft for fifty pounds, which had seemed such a god- 
 send a few minutes since — "What a surprise is in store for 
 you ! You shall have your loan back as promptly as you sent 
 it, with an extra fifty added by way of interest for your gen- 
 b 2* 
 
1 8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 erosity. And as for the new Maecenas you are sending to 
 help me over my difficulties, — well, he may be a very excel- 
 lent old gentleman, but he will find himself quite out of his 
 element this time. I want neither assistance nor advice nor 
 patronage — I can buy them all ! Titles, honours, possessions, 
 — they are all purchasable, — love, friendship, position, — they 
 are all for sale in this admirably commercial age and go to 
 the highest bidder ! By my soul ! — the wealthy * philan- 
 thropist' will find it difficult to match me in power ! He will 
 scarcely have more than five millions to waste, I warrant ! 
 And now for supper, — I shall have to live on credit till I get 
 some ready cash, — and there is no reason why I should not 
 leave this wretched hole at once and go to one of the best 
 hotels and swagger it !" 
 
 I was about to leave the room on the swift impulse of 
 excitement and joy, when a fresh and violent gust of wind 
 roared down the chimney, bringing with it a shower of soot 
 which fell in a black heap on my rejected manuscript where 
 it lay forgotten on the floor as I had despairingly thrown it. 
 I hastily picked it up and shook it free from the noisome 
 dirt, wondering as I did so, what would be its fate now ? — 
 now, when I could afford to publish it myself, and not only 
 publish it but advertise it, and not only advertise it but ' push' 
 it, in all the crafty and cautious ways known to the inner 
 circles of 'booming.' I smiled as I thought of the ven- 
 geance I would take on all those who had scorned and slighted 
 me and my labour, — how they should cower before me ! — how 
 they should fawn at my feet like whipt curs and whine their 
 fiilsome adulation ! Every stiff and stubborn neck should 
 bend before me ; this I resolved upon ; for though money 
 does not always conquer everything, it only fails when it is 
 money apart from brains. Brains and money together can 
 move the world, — brains can very frequently do this alone 
 without money, of which serious and proved fact those who 
 have no brains should beware ! 
 
 Full of ambitious thought, I now and then caught wild 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 19 
 
 sounds from the violin that was being played next door, — 
 notes like sobbing cries of pain, and anon rippling runs like 
 a careless woman's laughter, — and all at once I remembered 
 I had not yet opened the third letter addressed to me, — 
 the one coroneted in scarlet and gold, which had remained 
 where it w^as on the table almost unnoticed till now. I 
 took it up and turned it over with an odd sense of reluc- 
 tance in my fingers, which were slow at the work of tearing 
 the thick envelope asunder. Drawing out an equally thick 
 small sheet of notepaper also coroneted, I read the following 
 lines written in an admirably legible, small and picturesque 
 hand. 
 
 Dear Sir. 
 
 I am the bearer of a letter of introduction 
 to you from your former college companion Mr John Car- 
 rington, now of Melbourne, who has been good enough to 
 thus give me the means of making the acquaintance of one, 
 who, I understand, is more than exceptionally endowed with 
 the gift of literary genius. I shall call upon you this evening 
 between eight and nine o'clock, trusting to find you at home 
 and disengaged. I enclose my card, and present address, 
 and beg to remain. 
 
 Very faithfully yours 
 
 LUCIO RiMANEZ. 
 
 « 
 
 The card mentioned dropped on the table as I finished 
 reading the note. It bore a small exquisitely engraved coronet 
 and the words 
 
 Prince Lucio Rimanez, 
 while, scribbled lightly in pencil underneath was the address 
 * Grand Hotel.' 
 
 I read the brief letter through again, — it was simple enough, 
 — expressed with clearness and civility. There was nothing 
 remarkable about it, — nothing whatever; yet it seemed to 
 me surcharged with meaning. Why, I could not imagine. 
 
20 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 A curious fascination kept my eyes fastened on the char- 
 acteristic bold handwriting, and made me fancy I should 
 like the man who penned it. How the wind roared ! — and 
 how that violin next door wailed like the restless spirit of 
 some forgotten musician in torment ! My brain swam and 
 my heart ached heavily, — the drip drip of the rain outside 
 sounded like the stealthy footfall of some secret spy upon my 
 movements. I grew irritable and nervous, — a foreboding of 
 evil somehow darkened the bright consciousness of my sudden 
 good fortune. Then an impulse of shame possessed me, — 
 shame that this foreign prince, if such he were, with limitless 
 wealth at his back, should be coming to visit me, — vie, now 
 a millionaire, — in my present wretched lodging. Already, 
 before I had touched my riches, I was tainted by the miser- 
 able vulgarity of seeking to pretend I had never been really 
 poor, but only embarrassed by a little temporary difficulty ! 
 If I had had a sixpence about me, (which I had not) I should 
 have sent a telegram to my approaching visitor to put him 
 off. 
 
 ''But in any case," I said aloud, addressing myself to the 
 empty room and the storm-echoes — '' I will not meet him to- 
 night. I'll go out and leave no message, — and if he comes 
 he will think I have not yet had his letter. I can make an 
 appointment to see him when I am better lodged, and dressed 
 more in keeping with my present position, — in the meantime, 
 nothing is easier than to keep out of this would-be benefactor's 
 way. ' ' 
 
 As I spoke, the flickering lamp gave a dismal crackle and 
 went out, leaving me in pitch darkness. With an exclamation 
 more strong than reverent, I groped about the room for matches, 
 or failing them, for my hat and coat, — and I was still engaged 
 in a fruitless and annoying search, when I caught a sound of 
 galloping horses' hoofs coming to an abrupt stop in the street 
 below. Surrounded by black gloom, I paused and listened. 
 There was a slight commotion in the basement, — I heard my 
 landlady's accents attuned to nervous civility, mingling with 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 21 
 
 the mellow tones of a deep masculine voice, — then steps, firm 
 and even, ascended the stairs to my landing. 
 
 '' The devil is in it !" I muttered vexedly — " Just like my 
 wayward luck ! — here comes the very man I intended to 
 avoid!" 
 
 Ill 
 
 The door opened, — and from the dense obscurity en- 
 shrouding me I could just perceive a tall shadowy figure 
 standing on the threshold. I remember well the curious 
 impression the mere outline of this scarcely discerned form 
 made upon me even then, suggesting at the first glance such 
 a stately majesty of height and bearing as at once riveted 
 my attention, — so much so indeed that I scarcely heard my 
 landlady's introductory words *' A gentleman to see you, sir," 
 — words that were quickly interrupted by a murmur of dismay 
 at finding the room in total darkness. "Well to be sure! 
 The lamp must have gone out!" she exclaimed, — then ad- 
 dressing the personage she had ushered thus far, she added — 
 **I'm afraid Mr. Tempest isn't in after all, sir, though I 
 certainly saw him about half-an-hour ago. If you don't 
 mind waiting here a minute I'll fetch a light and see if he 
 has left any message on his table. ' ' 
 
 She hurried away, and though I knew that of course I 
 ought to speak, a singular and quite inexplicable perversity of 
 humour kept me silent and unwilling to declare my presence. 
 Meanwhile the tall stranger advanced a pace or two, and a 
 rich voice with a ring of ironical amusement in it called me 
 by my name — 
 
 " Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?" 
 
 Why could I not answer? The strangest and most un- 
 natural obstinacy stiffened my tongue, — and, concealed in 
 the gloom of my forlorn literary den I still held my peace. 
 The majestic figure drew nearer, till in height and breadth it 
 
22 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 seemed to suddenly overshadow me, and once again the voice 
 called — 
 
 "Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?" 
 
 For very shame's sake I could hold out no longer, — and 
 with a determined effort I broke the extraordinary dumb spell 
 that had held me like a coward in silent hiding, and came 
 forward boldly to confront my visitor. 
 
 '' Yes I am here," I said — "And being here I am ashamed 
 to give you such a welcome as this. You are Prince Rimanez 
 of course ; — I have just read your note, which prepared me 
 for your visit, but I was hoping that my landlady, finding the 
 room in darkness, would conclude I was out, and show you 
 downstairs again. You see I am perfectly frank !" 
 
 "You are indeed!" returned the stranger, his deep tones 
 still vibrating with the silvery clang of veiled satire — "So 
 frank that I cannot fail to understand you. Briefly, and 
 without courtesy, you resent my visit this evening and wish I 
 had not come ! ' ' 
 
 This open declaration of my mood sounded so brusque that 
 I made haste to deny it though I knew it to be true. Truth, 
 even in trifles, always seems unpleasant ! 
 
 "Pray do not think me so churlish," — I said — "The fact 
 is I only opened your letter a few minutes ago, and before I 
 could make any arrangements to receive you, the lamp went 
 out, with the awkward result that I am forced to greet you in 
 this unsociable darkness, which is almost too dense to shake 
 hands in." 
 
 " Shall we try?" my visitor enquired, with a sudden soften- 
 ing of accent that gave his words a singular charm — " Here is 
 my hand, — if yours has any friendly instinct in it, the twain 
 will meet,— quite blindly and without guidance !" 
 
 I at once extended my hand, and it was instantly clasped 
 in a warm and somewhat masterful manner. At that instant 
 a light flashed on the scene, — my landlady entered, bearing 
 what she called ' her best lamp' alit, and set it on the table. 
 I believe she uttered some exclamation of surprise at seeing 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 23 
 
 me, — she may have said anything or nothing, — I did not hear 
 or heed, so entirely was 1 amazed and fascinated by the appear- 
 ance of the man whose long slender hand still held mine. I 
 am myself an average good height, but he was fully half a 
 head taller than I, if not more than that, — and as I looked 
 straightly at him, I thought I had never seen so much beauty 
 and intellectuality combined in the outward personality of any 
 human being. The finely shaped head denoted both power 
 and wisdom, and was nobly poised on such shoulders as might 
 have befitted a Hercules, — the countenance was a pure oval, 
 and singularly pale, this complexion intensifying the almost 
 fiery brilliancy of the full dark eyes, which had in them a 
 curious and wonderfully attractive look of mingled mirth and 
 misery. The mouth was perhaps the most telling feature in 
 this remarkable face, — set in the perfect curve of beauty, it 
 was yet firm, determined, and not too small, thus escaping 
 effeminacy, — and I noted that in repose it expressed bitterness, 
 disdain and even cruelty. But with the light of a smile upon 
 it, it signified, or seemed to signify, something more subtle 
 than any passion to which we can give a name, and already 
 with the rapidity of a lightning flash, I caught myself wonder- 
 ing what that mystic undeclared something might be. At a 
 glance I comprehended these primary details of my new ac- 
 quaintance's eminently prepossessing appearance, and when 
 my hand dropped from his close grasp I felt as if 1 had known 
 him all my life ! And now face to face with him, in the bright 
 lamp-light I remembered my actual surroundings, — the bare 
 cold room, the lack of fire, the black soot that sprinkled the 
 nearly carpetless floor, — my own shabby clothes and deplora- 
 ble aspect, as compared with this regal-looking individual who 
 carried the visible evidence of wealth upon him in the superb 
 Russian sables that lined and bordered his long overcoat 
 which he now partially unfastened and threw open with a 
 carelessly imperial air, the while he regarded me, smiling. 
 
 "I know I have come at an awkward moment," he said — 
 " I always do ! It is my peculiar misfortune. Well-bred 
 
24 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 people never intrude where they are not wanted, — and in this 
 particular I'm afraid my manners leave much to be desired. 
 Try to forgive me if you can, for the sake of this," — and he 
 held out a letter addressed to me in my friend Carrington's 
 familiar handwriting. ''And permit me to sit down while you 
 read my credentials." 
 
 He took a chair and seated himself. I observed his hand- 
 some face and easy attitude with renewed admiration. 
 
 "No credentials are necessary," I said w^ith all the cor- 
 diality I now really felt — "I have already had a letter from 
 Carrington in which he speaks of you in the highest and most 
 
 grateful terms. But the fact is w^ell ! — really. Prince, you 
 
 must excuse me if I seem confused or astonished ... I had 
 expected to see quite an old man . . ." 
 
 And I broke off, somewhat embarrassed by the keen glance 
 of the brilliant eyes that met mine so fixedly. 
 
 *'No one is old, my dear sir, nowadays!" he declared 
 lightly — " even the grandmothers and grandfathers are friskier 
 at fifty than they were at fifteen. One does not talk of age 
 at all now in polite society, — it is ill-bred, even coarse. 
 Indecent things are unmentionable — age has become an 
 indecent thing. It is therefore avoided in conversation. You 
 expected to see an old man you say ? Well, you are not 
 disappointed — I aj7i old. In fact you have no idea how very 
 old I am!" 
 
 I laughed at this piece of absurdity. 
 
 '' Why you are younger than I," — I said — " or if not, you 
 look it." 
 
 *' Ah, my looks belie me !" he returned gaily — '' I am like 
 several of the most noted fashionable beauties, — much riper 
 than I seem. But come, read the introductory missive I have 
 brought you, — I shall not be satisfied till you do." 
 
 Thus requested, and wishing to prove myself as courteous 
 as I had hitherto been brusque, I at once opened my friend's 
 note and read as follows, — 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 25 
 
 Dear Geoffrey. 
 
 The bearer of this, Prince Rimanez, is 
 a very distinguished scholar and gentleman, allied by descent 
 to one of the oldest families in Europe, or for that matter, in 
 the world. You, as a student and lover of ancient history, 
 will be interested to know that his ancestors were originally 
 princes of Chaldea, who afterwards settled in Tyre, — from 
 thence they went to Etruria and there continued through 
 many centuries, the last scion of the house being the very 
 gifted and genial personage who, as my good friend, I have 
 the pleasure of commending to your kindest regard. Certain 
 troublous and overpowering circumstances have forced him 
 into exile from his native province, and deprived him of a 
 great part of his possessions, so that he is to a considerable 
 extent a wanderer on the face of the earth, and has travelled 
 far and seen much, and has a wide experience of men and 
 things. He is a poet and musician of great skill, and though 
 he occupies himself with the arts solely for his own amuse- 
 ment, I think you will find his practical knowledge of literary 
 matters eminently useful to you in your difficult career. I 
 must not forget to add that in all matters scientific he is an 
 absolute master. Wishing you both a cordial friendship, I 
 am, dear Geoffrey, 
 
 Yours sincerely 
 
 John Carrington. 
 
 The signature of ' Bofifles' had evidently been deemed out of 
 place this time and somehow I was foolishly vexed at its 
 omission. There seemed to be something formal and stiff 
 in the letter, almost as if it had been written to dictation, and 
 under pressure. What gave me this idea I know not. I 
 glanced furtively at my silent companion, — he caught my stray 
 look and returned it with a curiously grave fixity. Fearing 
 lest my momentary vague distrust of him had been reflected 
 in my eyes I made haste to speak — 
 
 *' This letter, prince, adds to my shame and regret that I 
 B 3 
 
26 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 should have greeted you in so churlish a manner this evening. 
 No apology can condone my rudeness, — but you cannot 
 imagine how mortified I felt, and still feel, tqgbe compelled 
 to receive you in this miserable den, — it js not at all 
 the sort of place in which I should have liked to welcome 
 you ..." And I broke off with a renewed sense of irri- 
 tation, remembering how actually rich I now was, and that 
 in spite of this I was obliged to seem poor. Meanwhile the 
 prince waived aside my remarks with a light gesture of his hand. 
 
 "Why be mortified?" he demanded. " Rather be proud 
 that you can dispense with the vulgar appurtenances of luxury. 
 Genius thrives in a garret and dies in a palace, — is not that 
 the generally accepted theory?" 
 
 "Rather a worn-out and mistaken one I consider," — I 
 replied — " Genius might like to try the effect of a palace for 
 once, — it usually dies of starvation." 
 
 " True ! — but in thus dying, think how many fools it after- 
 wards fattens ! There is an all-wise Providence in this, my 
 dear sir ! Schubert perished of want, — but see what large 
 profits all the music-publishers have made since out of his 
 compositions ! It is a most beautiful dispensation of nature, 
 — that honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for 
 the sustenance of knaves !" 
 
 He laughed, and I looked at him in a little surprise. His 
 remark touched so near my own opinions that I wondered 
 whether he were in jest or earnest. 
 
 " You speak sarcastically of course?" I said — "You do not 
 really believe what you say?" 
 
 " Oh do I not !" he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes 
 that was almost lightning-like in its intensity — " If I could 
 not believe the teaching of my own experience, what would 
 be left to me ? I always realize the ' nee(/s inusf of things — 
 how does the old maxim go — * needs must when the devil 
 drives.' There is really no possible contradiction to offer to 
 the accuracy of that statement. The devil drives the world, 
 whip in hand, — and oddly enough (considering that some 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 27 
 
 belated folk still fancy there is a God somewhere) succeeds 
 in managing his team with extraordinary ease !" His brow 
 clouded, and the bitter lines about his mouth deepened and 
 hardened, — anon he laughed again lightly and continued — 
 ''But let us not moralize, — morals sicken the soul both in 
 church and out of it, — every sensible man hates to be told 
 what he could be and what he woji t be. I am here to make 
 friends with you if you permit, — and to put an end to cere- 
 mony, will you accompany me back to my hotel where I 
 have ordered supper ?' ' 
 
 By this time I had become indescribably fascinated by his 
 easy manner, handsome presence and mellifluous voice, — 
 the satirical turn of his humour suited mine, — I felt we should 
 get on well together, — and my first annoyance at being dis- 
 covered by him in such poverty-stricken circumstances some- 
 what abated. 
 
 "With pleasure!" I replied — ''But first of all, you must 
 allow me to explain matters a little. You have heard a good 
 deal about my affairs from my friend John Carrington, and 
 I know from his private letter to me that you have come 
 here out of pure kindness and goodwill. For that generous 
 intention I thank you ! I know you expected to find a poor 
 wretch of a literary man struggling with the direst circum- 
 stances of disappointment and poverty, — and a couple of 
 hours ago you would have amply fulfilled that expectation. 
 But now, things have changed, — I have received news which 
 completely alters my position, — in fact I have had a very 
 great and remarkable surprise this evening ..." 
 
 "An agreeable one I trust?" interposed my companion 
 suavely. 
 
 I smiled. 
 
 "Judge for yourself!" And I handed him the lawyer's 
 letter which informed me of my suddenly acquired fortune. 
 
 He glanced it through rapidly, — then folded and returned it 
 to me with a courteous bow. 
 
 "I suppose I should congratulate you," — he said — "And 
 
28 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 I do. Though of course this wealth which seems to content 
 you, to me appears a mere trifle. It can be quite conveniently- 
 run through and exhausted in about eight years or less, 
 therefore it does not provide absolute immunity from care. 
 To be rich, really rich, in my sense of the word, one should 
 have about a million a year. Then one might reasonably 
 hope to escape the workhouse ! ' ' 
 
 He laughed, — and I stared at him stupidly, not knowing 
 how to take his words, whether as truth or idle boasting. 
 Five Millions of money a mere trifle ! He went on without 
 apparently noticing my amazement — 
 
 "The inexhaustible greed of a man, my dear sir, can never 
 be satisfied. If he is not consumed by desire for one thing, 
 he is for another, and his tastes are generally expensive. A 
 few pretty and unscrupulous women for example, would soon 
 relieve you of your five millions in the purchase of jewels 
 alone. Horse-racing would do it still more quickly. No, 
 no, — you are not rich, — you are still poor, — only your needs 
 are no longer so pressing as they were. And in this I confess 
 myself somewhat disappointed, — for I came to you hoping to 
 do a good turn to some one for once in my life, and to play 
 the foster-father to a rising genius — and here I am — fore- 
 stalled, — as usual ! It is a singular thing do you know, but 
 nevertheless a fact, that whenever I have had any particular 
 intentions towards a man I am always forestalled ! It is 
 really rather hard upon me ?' ' He broke off and raised his 
 head in a listening attitude. 
 
 ''What is that?" he asked. 
 
 It was the violinist next door playing a well-known "Ave 
 Maria." I told him so. 
 
 "Dismal, — very dismal!" he said with a contemptuous 
 shrug. "I hate all that kind of mawkish devotional stuff. 
 Well ! — millionaire as you are, and acknowledged lion of 
 society as you shortly will be, there is no objection I hope, 
 to the proposed supper? And perhaps a music-hall after- 
 wards if you feel inclined, — what do you say?" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 29 
 
 He clapped me on the shoulder cordially and looked 
 straight into my face, — those wonderful eyes of his, suggestive 
 of both tears and fire, fixed me with a clear masterful gaze that 
 completely dominated me. I made no attempt to resist the 
 singular attraction which now possessed me for this man whom 
 I had but just met, — the sensation was too strong and too 
 pleasant to be combated. Only for one moment more I 
 hesitated, looking down at my shabby attire. 
 
 '' I am not fit to accompany you, prince," I said — " I look 
 more like a tramp than a millionaire." 
 
 He glanced at me and smiled. 
 
 " Upon my life, so you do !" he averred. — '^ But be satis- 
 fied you are in this respect very like many another Croesus. 
 It is only the poor and proud who take the trouble to dress 
 well, — they and the dear * naughty' ladies generally monopo- 
 lize tasteful and becoming attire. An ill-fitting coat often 
 adorns the back of a Prime Minister, — and if you see a 
 woman clad in clothes vilely cut and coloured, you may be 
 sure she is eminently virtuous, renowned for good works, 
 and probably a duchess. ' ' He rose, drawing his sables about 
 him. 
 
 "What matter the coat if the purse be full !" he continued 
 gaily. — ''Let it once be properly paragraphed in the papers 
 that you are a millionaire, and doubtless some enterprising 
 tailor will invent a ' Tempest' ulster coloured softly like your 
 present garb, an artistic mildewy green ! And now come 
 along, — your solicitor's communication should have given 
 you a good appetite, or it is not so valuable as it seems, — 
 and I want you to do justice to my supper. I have my own 
 chef with me, and he is not without skill. I hope, by the 
 way, you will at least do me this much service, — that pending 
 legal discussion and settlement of your affairs, you will let me 
 be your banker?" 
 
 This offer was made with such an air of courteous delicacy 
 and friendship, that I could do no more than accept it grate- 
 fully, as it relieved me from all temporary embarrassment. I 
 
 3* 
 
30 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 hastily wrote a few lines to my landlady telling her she would 
 receive the money owing to her by post next day, — then, 
 thrusting my rejected manuscript, my only worldly possession, 
 into my coat-pocket, I extinguished the lamp, and with the 
 new friend I had so suddenly gained, I left my dismal lodg- 
 ings and all its miserable associations for ever. I little 
 thought the day would come when I should look back to the 
 time spent in that small mean room as the best period of my 
 life, — when I should regard the bitter poverty I then endured, 
 as the stern but holy angel meant to guide me to the highest 
 and noblest attainment, — when I should pray desperately with 
 wild tears to be as I was then, rather than as I am now ! 
 Is it well or ill for us I wonder, that the future is hidden from 
 our knowledge ? Should we steer our ways clearer from evil 
 if we knew its result ? It is a doubtful question, — at anyrate 
 my ignorance for the moment was indeed bliss. I went joy- 
 fully out of the dreary house where I had lived so long among 
 disappointments and difficulties, turning my back upon it with 
 such a sense of relief as could never be expressed in words, — 
 and the last thing I heard as I passed into the street with my 
 companion was a plaintive long-drawn w^ail of minor melody, 
 which seemed to be sent after me like a parting cry, by the 
 unknown and invisible player of the violin. 
 
 IV 
 
 Outside, the prince's carriage waited, drawn by two spir- 
 ited black horses caparisoned in silver, magnificent thorough- 
 breds which pawed the ground and champed their bits im- 
 patient of delay, — at sight of his master the smart footman 
 in attendance threw the door open, touching his hat respect- 
 fully. We stepped in, I preceding my companion at his ex- 
 pressed desire ; and as I sank back among the easy cushions I 
 felt the complacent consciousness of luxury and power to 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 31 
 
 such an extent that it seemed as if I had left my days of ad- 
 versity already a long way behind me. Hunger and happiness 
 disputed my sensations between them, and I was in that vague 
 light-headed condition common to long fasting, in which 
 nothing seemed absolutely tangible or real. I knew I should 
 not properly grasp the solid truth of my wonderful good luck 
 till my physical needs were satisfied, and I was, so to speak, 
 once more in a naturally balanced bodily condition. At 
 present my brain was in a whirl, — my thoughts were all dim 
 and disconnected, — and I appeared to myself to be in some 
 whimsical dream from which I should wake up directly. The 
 carriage rolled on rubber-tyred wheels and made no noise as 
 it went, — one could only hear the even rapid trot of the 
 horses. By-and-by I saw in the semi-darkness my new 
 friend's brilliant dark eyes fixed upon me with a curiously 
 intent expression. 
 
 "Do you not feel the world already at your feet?" he 
 queried half playfully, half ironically — " Like a football, 
 waiting to be kicked ? It is such an absurd world, you know 
 — so easily moved. Wise men in all ages have done their 
 best to make it less ridiculous, — with no result, inasmuch as it 
 continues to prefer folly to wisdom. A football, or let us say 
 a shuttlecock among worlds, ready to be tossed up anyhow and 
 anywhere, provided the battledore be of gold !" 
 
 "You speak a trifle bitterly, prince" — I said — "But no 
 doubt you have had a wide experience among men?" 
 
 " I have," he returned with emphasis — " My kingdom is a 
 vast one." 
 
 " You are a ruling power then?" I exclaimed with some 
 astonishment — "Yours is not a title of honour only?" 
 
 "Oh, as your rules of aristocracy go, it is a mere title of 
 honour" — he replied quickly — " When I say that my king- 
 dom is a vast one, I mean that I rule wherever men obey the 
 influence of wealth. From this point of view, am I wrong in 
 calling my kingdom vast ? — is it not almost boundless ?" 
 
 "I perceive you are a cynic," — I said — "Yet surely you 
 
32 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 believe that there are some things wealth cannot buy, — honour 
 and virtue for example?" 
 
 He surveyed me with a whimsical smile. 
 
 " I suppose honour and virtue ^'/d? exist — " he answered — 
 " And when they are existent of course they cannot be bought. 
 But my experience has taught me that I can always buy 
 everything. The sentiments called honour and virtue by the 
 majority of men are the most shifty things imaginable, — set 
 sufficient cash down, and they become bribery and corruption 
 in the twinkling of an eye ! Curious — very curious. I con- 
 fess I found a case of unpurchaseable integrity once, but only 
 once. I may find it again, though I consider the chance a 
 very doubtful one. Now to revert to myself, pray do not 
 imagine I am playing the humbug with you or passing myself 
 off under a bogus title. I am a boiia-fide prince, believe me, 
 and of such descent as none of your oldest families can 
 boast, — but my dominions are long since broken up and 
 my former subjects dispersed among all nations, — anarchy, 
 nihilism, disruption and political troubles generally, compel 
 me to be rather reticent concerning my affairs. Money I 
 fortunately have in plenty, — and with that I pave my way. 
 Some day when we are better acquainted, you shall know 
 more of my private history. I have various other names and 
 titles besides that on my card — but I keep to the simplest of 
 them, because most people are such bunglers at the pronunci- 
 ation of foreign names. My intimate friends generally drop 
 my title and call me Lucio simply." 
 
 "That is your Christian name — ?" I began. 
 
 '' Not at all — I have no ' Christian' name," — he interrupted 
 swiftly and with anger — '' There is no such thing as ' Christian' 
 in my composition !" 
 
 He spoke with such impatience that for a moment I was at 
 a loss for a reply. At last — 
 
 "Indeed !" I murmured vaguely. 
 
 He burst out laughing. 
 
 Indeed !' That is all you can find to say ! Indeed and 
 
 <( i 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 33 
 
 again indeed, the word ' Christian' vexes me. There is no 
 such being alive. Vou are not a Christian, — no one is 
 really, — people pretend to be, — and in so damnable an act 
 of feigning are more blasphemous than any fallen fiend ! 
 Now I make no pretences of the kind, — 1 have only one 
 faith—" 
 
 ''And that is?" — 
 
 '* A profound and awful one !" he said in thrilling tones — 
 ''And the worst of it is that it is true, — as true as the work- 
 ings of the Universe. But of that hereafter, — it will do to 
 talk of when we feel low-spirited and wish to converse of 
 things grim and ghastly, — at present here we are at our des- 
 tination, and the chief consideration of our* lives, (it is the 
 chief consideration of most men's lives) must be the excel- 
 lence or non-excellence of our food." 
 
 The carriage stopped and we descended. At first sight of 
 the black horses and silver trappings, the porter of the hotel 
 and two or three other servants rushed out to attend upon us, 
 but the prince passed into the hall without noticing any of 
 them, and addressed himself to a sober-looking individual in 
 black, his own private valet, who came forward to meet him 
 with a profound salutation. I murmured something about 
 wishing to engage a room for myself in the hotel. 
 
 " Oh, my man will see to that for you" — he said lightly — 
 " The house is not full, — at anyrate all the best rooms are not 
 taken ; and of course you want one of the best." 
 
 A staring waiter, who up to that moment had been noting 
 my shabby clothes with that peculiar air of contempt com- 
 monly displayed by insolent menials to those whom they 
 imagine are poor, overheard these words, and suddenly chang- 
 ing the derisive expression of his foxy face, bowed obse- 
 quiously as I passed. A thrill of disgust ran through me, 
 mingled with a certain angry triumph, — the hypocritical reflex 
 of this low fellow's countenance, was, I knew, a true epitome 
 of what I should find similarly reflected in the manner and 
 attitude of all ' polite' society. For there the estimate of 
 
34 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 worth is no higher than a common servant's estimate, and is 
 taken solely from the money standard ; — if you are poor and 
 dress shabbily you are thrust aside and ignored, — but if you 
 are rich, you may wear shabby clothes as much as you 
 like, you are still courted and flattered and invited every- 
 where, though you may be the greatest fool alive or the worst 
 blackguard unhung. With vague thoughts such as these flit- 
 ting over my mind, I followed my host to his rooms. He 
 occupied nearly a whole wing of the hotel, having a large 
 drawing-room, dining-room and study en suite, fitted up in 
 the most luxurious manner, besides bedroom, bathroom, and 
 dressing-room, with other rooms adjoining, for his valet and 
 two extra personal attendants. The table was laid for supper, 
 and glittered with the costliest glass, silver and china, being 
 furthermore adorned by baskets of the most exquisite fruit and 
 flowers, and in a few moments we were seated. The prince's 
 valet acted as head-waiter, and I noticed that now this man's 
 face, seen in the full light of the electric lamps, seemed very 
 dark and unpleasant, even sinister in expression, — but in the 
 performance of his duties he was unexceptionable, being quick, 
 attentive, and deferential, so much so that I inwardly re- 
 proached myself for taking an instinctive dislike to him. His 
 name was Amiel, and I found myself involuntarily watching 
 his movements, they were so noiseless, — his very step suggest- 
 ing the stealthy gliding of a cat or a tiger. He was assisted 
 in his work by the two other attendants who served as his 
 subordinates, and who were equally active and well-trained, — 
 and presently I found myself enjoying the choicest meal I had 
 tasted for many and many a long day, flavoured with such wine 
 as connoisseurs might be apt to dream of, but never succeed 
 in finding. I began to feel perfectly at my ease, and talked 
 with freedom and confidence, the strong attraction I had for 
 my new friend deepening with every moment I passed in his 
 company. 
 
 '* Will you continue your literary career now you have this 
 little fortune left you?" he inquired, when at the close of 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 35 
 
 supper Amiel set the choicest cognac and cigars before us and 
 respectfully withdrew — '' Do you think you will care to go on 
 with it?" 
 
 " Certainly I shall," — I replied — ''if only for the fun of the 
 thing. You see, with money I can force my name into 
 notice whether the public like it or not. No newspaper 
 refuses paying advertisements." 
 
 " True ! — but may not inspiration refuse to flow from a full 
 purse and an empty head ?" 
 
 This remark provoked me not a little. 
 
 *'Do you consider me empty-headed?" I asked with some 
 vexation. 
 
 " Not at present. My dear Tempest, do not let either the 
 Tokay we have been drinking, or the cognac we are going to 
 drink, speak for you in such haste ! I assure you I do not 
 think you empty-headed, — on the contrary, your head, I 
 believe from what I have heard, has been and is full of ideas, 
 — excellent ideas, original ideas, which the world of conven- 
 tional criticism does not want. But whether these ideas will 
 continue to germinate in your brain, or whether, with the full 
 purse, they will cease, is now the question. Great originality 
 and inspiration, strange to say, seldom endow the millionaire. 
 Inspiration is supposed to come from above, — money from 
 below ! In your case however both originality and inspira- 
 tion may continue to flourish and bring forth fruit, — I trust 
 they may. It often happens, nevertheless that when bags of 
 money fall to the lot of aspiring genius, God departs an(3 the 
 devil walks in. Have you never heard that ?' ' 
 
 '* Never !" I answered smiling. 
 
 ''Well, of course the saying is foolish, and sounds doubly 
 ridiculous in this age when people believe in neither God nor 
 devil. It implies however that one must choose an up or a 
 down, — genius is the Up, money is the Down. You cannot 
 fly and grovel at the same instant." 
 
 "The possession of money is not likely to cause a man 
 to grovel" — I said — "It is the one thing necessary to 
 
36 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 strengthen his soaring powers and lift him to the greatest 
 heights." 
 
 "You think so?" and my host lit his cigar with a grave 
 and pre-occupied air — "Then I'm afraid you don't know 
 much about what I shall call natural psychics. What belongs 
 to the earth tends earthwards, — surely you realize that ? Gold 
 most strictly belongs to the earth, — you dig it out of the 
 ground, — you handle it and dispose of it in solid wedges or 
 bars — it is a substantial metal enough. Genius belongs to 
 nobody knows where, — you cannot dig it up or pass it on, or 
 do anything with it except stand and marvel — it is a rare visit- 
 ant and capricious as the wind, and generally makes sad havoc 
 among the conventionalities of men. It is as I said an * up- 
 per' thing, beyond earthly smells and savours, — and those who 
 have it always live in unknown high latitudes. But money is 
 a perfectly level commodity, — level with the ground ; — when 
 you have much of it, you come down solidly on your flat 
 soles, and down you stay !" 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " Upon my word you preach very eloquently against 
 wealth?" I said — "You yourself are unusually rich, — are you 
 sorry for it ?" 
 
 "No, I am not sorry because being sorry would be no 
 use" — he returned — " And I never waste my time. But I am 
 telling you the truth — Genius and great riches hardly ever pull 
 together. Now I, for example,— you cannot imagine what 
 great capabilities I had once ! — a long time ago — before I 
 became my own master ! " 
 
 "And you have them still I am sure," — I averred, looking 
 expressively at his noble head and fine eyes. 
 
 The strange subtle smile I had noticed once or twice before 
 lightened his face. " Ah, you mean to compliment me !" he 
 said — "You like my looks, — many people do. Yet after all 
 there is nothing so deceptive as one's outward appearance. 
 The reason of this is, that as soon as childhood is past, we 
 are always pretending to be what we are not, — and thus, with 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 37 
 
 constant practice from our youth up, we manage to make our 
 physical frames complete disguises for our actual selves. It is 
 really wise and clever of us, — for hence each individual is so 
 much flesh-wall through which neither friend nor enemy can 
 spy. Every man is a solitary soul imprisoned in a self-made 
 den, — when he is quite alone he knows and frequently hates 
 himself, — sometimes he even gets afraid of the gaunt and mur- 
 derous monster he keeps hidden behind his outwardly pleasant 
 body-mask, and hastens to forget its frightful existence in 
 drink and debauchery. That is what I do occasionally, — you 
 would not think it of me, would you?" 
 
 *' Never !" I replied quickly, for something in his voice and 
 aspect moved me strangely — ' ' You belie yourself, and wrong 
 your own nature." 
 
 He laughed softly. 
 
 ** Perhaps I do !" he said carelessly — *' This much you may 
 believe of me — that I am no worse than most men ! Now to 
 return to the subject of your literary career, — you have written 
 a book you say, — well, publish it and see the result — if you 
 only make one * hit' that is something. And there are ways 
 of arranging that the ' hit' shall be made. What is your 
 story about? I hope it is improper ?" 
 
 '^ It certainly is not," — I replied warmly — " It is a romance 
 dealing with the noblest forms of life and highest ambitions, 
 — I wrote it with the intention of elevating and purifying the 
 thoughts of my readers, and wished if I could, to comfort 
 those who 'lad suffered loss or sorrow — ' ' 
 
 Rimanez smiled compassionately. 
 
 *' x\h, it won't do !" he interrupted — '' I assure you it won't; 
 it doesn't fit the age. It might go down, possibly, if you 
 could give a ' first-night' of it as it were to the critics, like 
 one of my most intimate friends Henry Irving, — a * first- 
 night' combined with an excellent supper and any amount 
 of good drinks going. Otherwise it's no use. If it is to 
 succeed by itself, it must not attempt to be literature, — it 
 must simply be indecent. As indecent as you can make it 
 
 4 
 
38 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 without offending advanced women, — that is giving you a 
 good wide margin. Put in as much as you can about sexual 
 matters and the bearing of children, — in brief, discourse of 
 men and women simply as cattle who exist merely for breed- 
 ing purposes, and your success will be enormous. There's 
 not a critic living who won't applaud you, — there's not a 
 school-girl of fifteen who will not gloat over your pages in 
 the silence of her virginal bedroom !" 
 
 Such a flash of withering derision darted from his eyes as 
 startled me, — I could find no words to answer him for the 
 moment, and he went on — 
 
 '* What put it into your head, my dear Tempest, to write 
 a book dealing with, as you say, ' the noblest forms of life' ? 
 There are no noble forms of life left on this planet, — it is all 
 low and commercial, — man is a pigmy, and his aims are 
 pigmy like himself. For noble forms of life seek other 
 worlds ! — there are others. Then again, people don't want 
 their thoughts raised or purified in the novels they read for 
 amusement — they go to church for that, and get very bored 
 during the process. And why should you wish to comfort 
 folks who, out of their own sheer stupidity generally, get into 
 trouble? They wouldn't comfort jj^^^^, — they would not give 
 you sixpence to save you from starvation. My good fellow, 
 leave your quixotism behind you with your poverty. Live 
 your life to yourself, — if you do anything for others they will 
 only treat you with the blackest ingratitude, — so take my 
 advice, and don't sacrifice your own personal interests for 
 any consideration whatever." 
 
 He rose from the table as he spoke and stood with his back 
 to the bright fire, smoking his cigar tranquilly, — and I gazed 
 at his handsome figure and face with just the faintest thrill of 
 pained doubt darkening my admiration. 
 
 '' If you were not so good-looking I should call you heart- 
 less" — I said at last — ''But your features are a direct con- 
 tradiction to your words. You have not really that indif- 
 ference to human nature which you strive to assume, — your 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 39 
 
 whole aspect betokens a generosity of spirit which you cannot 
 conquer if you would. Besides are you not always trying to 
 do good ?' ' 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "Always! That is, I am always at work endeavouring to 
 gratify every man's desire. Whether that is good of me, or 
 bad, remains to be proved. Men's wants are almost illimit- 
 able, — the only thing none of them ever seem to wish, so far 
 as I am concerned, is to cut my acquaintance ! ' ' 
 
 "■ Why, of course not ! After once meeting you, how could 
 they !" I said, laughing at the absurdity of the suggestion. 
 
 He gave me a whimsical side-look. 
 
 " Their desires are not always virtuous," he remarked, turn- 
 ing to flick off the ash of his cigar into the grate. 
 
 " But of course you do not gratify them in their vices !" I 
 rejoined, still laughing — '' That would be playing the part of 
 a benefactor somewhat too thoroughly !" 
 
 "Ah now I see we shall flounder in the quicksands of 
 theory if we go any further" — he said — " You forget, my dear 
 fellow, that nobody can decide as to what is vice, or what is 
 virtue. These things are chameleon-like and take difi^erent 
 colours in different countries. Abraham had two or three 
 wives and several concubines, and he was the very soul of 
 virtue according to sacred lore, — whereas my Lord Tom- 
 Noddy in London to-day has one wife and several concu- 
 bines, and is really very much like Abraham in other par- 
 ticulars, yet he is considered a very dreadful person. 'Who 
 shall decide when doctors disagree!' Let's drop the sub- 
 ject, as we shall never settle it. What shall we do with the 
 rest of the evening ? There is a stout-limbed shrewd wench 
 at the Tivoli, dancing her way into the aff"ections of a 
 ricketty little Duke, — shall we go and watch the admirable 
 contortions with which she is wriggling into a fixed position 
 among the English aristocracy ? Or are you tired, and would 
 you prefer a long night's rest?" 
 
 To tell the truth I was thoroughly fatigued, and mentally 
 
40 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 as well as physically worn out with the excitements of the day, 
 — my head too was heavy with the wine to which I had so 
 long been unaccustomed. 
 
 '' Upon my word I think I would rather go to bed than 
 anything, — " I confessed — " But what about my room?" 
 
 '' Oh, Amiel will have attended to that for you, — we'll ask 
 him. ' ' And he touched the bell. His valet instantly appeared. 
 
 *' Have you got a room for Mr Tempest ?" 
 
 *'Yes, your Excellency. An apartment in this corridor 
 almost facing your Excellency's suite. It is not as well fur- 
 nished as it might be, but I have made it as comfortable as I 
 can for the night." 
 
 " Thanks very much ! " I said — ''I am greatly obliged to 
 you." 
 
 Amiel bowed deferentially. 
 
 ** Thank jw/-, sir." 
 
 He retired, and I moved to bid my host good-night. He 
 took my proffered hand, and held it in his, looking at me 
 curiously the while. 
 
 **I like you, Geoffrey Tempest," he said — ''And because 
 I like you, and because I think there are the makings of 
 something higher than mere earthy brute in you, I am going 
 to make you what you may perhaps consider rather a singular 
 proposition. It is this, — that if you don't like vie, say so at 
 once, and we will part now, before we have time to know 
 anything more of each other, and I will endeavour not to 
 cross your path again unless you seek me out. But if on 
 the contrary, you do like me, — if you find something in my 
 humour or turn of mind congenial to your own disposition, 
 give me your promise that you will be my friend and com- 
 rade for a while, say for a few months at any rate. I can 
 take you into the best society, and introduce you to the 
 prettiest women in Europe, as well as the most brilliant men. 
 I know them all, and I believe I can be useful to you. But 
 if there is the smallest aversion to me lurking in the depths 
 of your nature," — here he paused, — then resumed with ex- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 41 
 
 traordinary solemnity — ''in God's name give it full way and 
 let me go, — because I swear to you in all sober earnest that I 
 am not what I seem !" 
 
 Strongly impressed by his strange look and stranger manner, 
 I hesitated one moment, — and on that moment, had I but 
 known it, hung my future. It was true, — I had felt a passing 
 shadow of distrust and repulsion for this fascinating yet 
 cynical man, and he seemed to have guessed it. But now 
 every suspicion of him vanished from my mind, and I clasped 
 his hand with renewed heartiness. 
 
 "My dear fellow, your warning comes too late!" I said 
 mirthfully — "Whatever you are, or whatever you choose to 
 think you are, I find you most sympathetic to my disposition, 
 and I consider myself most fortunate in knowing you. My 
 old friend Carrington has indeed done me a good turn in 
 bringing us together, and I assure you I shall be proud of 
 your companionship. You seem to take a perverse delight 
 in running yourself down ! — but you know the old adage, 
 ' the devil is not so black as he is painted' ?" 
 
 " And that is true !" he murmured dreamily — " Poor devil ! 
 — His faults are no doubt much exaggerated by the clergy ! 
 And so we are to be friends ?' ' 
 
 " I hope so ! I shall not be the first to break the compact !" 
 
 His dark eyes rested upon me thoughtfully, yet there seemed 
 to be a lurking smile in them as well. 
 
 "Compact is a good word" — he said — "So, — a compact 
 we will consider it. I meant to improve your material for- 
 tunes, — you can dispense with that aid now ; but I think I 
 can still be of service in pushing you on in society. And love 
 — of course you will fall in love, if you have not already done 
 so, — have you ?' ' 
 
 "Not I!" I answered quickly and with truth — "I have 
 seen no woman yet who perfectly fulfils my notions of 
 beauty. ' ' 
 
 He burst out laughing violently. 
 
 " Upon my word you are not wanting in audacity !" he said 
 
42 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 — "Nothing but perfect beauty will suit you, eh? But con- 
 sider, my friend, you, though a good-looking well-built man, 
 are not yourself quite a Phoebus Apollo !" 
 
 "That has nothing to do with the matter" — I rejoined — 
 "A man should choose a wife with a careful eye to his own 
 personal gratification, in the same way that he chooses horses 
 or wine, — perfection or nothing." 
 
 "And the woman?" — Rimanez demanded, his eyes twink- 
 ling. 
 
 "The woman has really no right of choice," — I responded, 
 for this was my pet argument and I took pleasure in setting it 
 forth — " She must mate wherever she has the chance of being 
 properly maintained. A man is always a man, — a woman 
 is only a man's appendage, and without beauty she can- 
 not put forth any just claim to his admiration or his sup- 
 port." 
 
 "Right! — very right, and logically argued!" — he ex- 
 claimed, — becoming preternaturally serious in a moment — "I 
 myself have no sympathy with the new ideas that are in vogue 
 concerning the intellectuality of woman. She is simply the 
 female of man, — she has no real soul save that which is a 
 reflex of his, and being destitute of logic, she is incapable of 
 forming a correct opinion on any subject. All the imposture 
 of religion is kept up by this unmathematical hysterical crea- 
 ture, — and it is curious, considering how inferior a being 
 she is, what mischief she has contrived to make in the world, 
 upsetting the plans of the wisest kings and counsellors, 
 who as mere men, should undoubtedly have mastered her 1 
 And in the present age she is becoming more than ever 
 unmanageable." 
 
 "It is only a passing phase," — I returned carelessly — "A 
 fad got up by a few unloved and unlovable types of the femi- 
 nine sex. I care very little for women — I doubt whether I 
 shall ever marry." 
 
 "Well you have plenty of time to consider, and amuse 
 yourself with the fair ones en passant'' — he said watching me 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 43 
 
 narrowly — ''And in the meantime I can take you round 
 the different marriage-markets of the world if you choose, 
 though the largest one of them all is of course this very 
 metropolis. Splendid bargains to be had, my dear friend ! 
 — wonderful blonde and brunette specimens going really very 
 cheap. We'll examine them at our leisure. I'm glad you 
 have yourself decided that we are to be comrades, — for I am 
 proud ; — I may say damnably proud ; — and never stay in any 
 man's company when he expresses the slightest wish to be rid 
 of me. Good-night !" 
 
 '' Good-night !" I responded. We clasped hands again, and 
 they were still interlocked, when a sudden flash of lightning 
 blazed vividly across the room, followed instantaneously by a 
 terrific clap of thunder. The electric lights went out, and 
 only the glow of the fire illumined our faces. I was a little 
 startled and confused, — the prince stood still, quite uncon- 
 cerned, his eyes shining like those of a cat in the darkness. 
 
 *' What a storm !" he remarked lightly — " Such thunder in 
 winter is rather unusual. Amiel !" 
 
 The valet entered, his sinister countenance resembling a 
 white mask made visible in the gloom. 
 
 " These lamps have gone out" — said his master — *' It's very 
 odd that civilized humanity has not yet learned the complete 
 management of the electric light. Can you put them in order, 
 Amiel?" 
 
 '* Yes, your Excellency." And in a few moments, by some 
 dexterous manipulation which I did not understand and could 
 not see, the crystal-cased jets shone forth again with renewed 
 brilliancy. Another peal of thunder crashed overhead, fol- 
 lowed by a downpour of rain. 
 
 "Really remarkable weather for January," — said Rimanez, 
 again giving me his hand — " Good-night, my friend ! Sleep 
 well." 
 
 "If the anger of the elements will permit !" I returned, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Oh, never mind the elements. Man has nearly mastered 
 
44 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 them or soon will do so, now that he is getting gradually 
 convinced there is no Deity to interfere in his business. 
 Amiel, show Mr Tempest to his room." 
 
 Amiel obeyed, and crossing the corridor, ushered me into 
 a large, luxurious apartment, richly furnished, and lit up by 
 the blaze of a bright fire. The comforting warmth shone 
 welcome upon me as I entered, and I who had not experi- 
 enced such personal luxury since my boyhood's days, felt 
 more than ever overpowered by the jubilant sense of my sud- 
 den extraordinary good fortune. Amiel waited respectfully, 
 now and then furtively glancing at me with an expression 
 which to my fancy had something derisive in it. 
 
 *' Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" he inquired. 
 
 ''No, thank you" — I answered, endeavouring to throw an 
 accent of careless condescension into my voice — for somehow 
 I felt this man must be kept strictly in his place — " you have 
 been very attentive, — I shall not forget it." 
 
 A slight smile flickered over his features. 
 
 '' Much obliged to you, sir. Good-night." 
 
 And he retired, leaving me alone. I paced the room up 
 and down more dreamily than consciously, trying to think, — 
 trying to set in order the amazing events of the day, but my 
 brain was still dazed and confused, and the only image of 
 actual prominence in my mind was the striking and remarkable 
 personality of my new friend Rimanez. His extraordinary 
 good looks, his attractive manner, his curious cynicism which 
 was so oddly mixed with some deeper sentiment to which I 
 could not give a name, all the trifling yet uncommon peculiar- 
 ities of his bearing and humour, haunted me and became in- 
 dissolubly mingled as it were with myself and all the circum- 
 stances concerning me. I undressed before the fire, listening 
 drowsily to the rain, and the thunder which was now dying 
 off into sullen echoes. 
 
 ''Geoffrey Tempest, the world is before you" — I said, 
 apostrophizing myself indolently — "you are a young man, — 
 you have health, a good appearance, and brains, — added to 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 45 
 
 these you now have five millions of money, and a wealthy 
 prince for your friend. What more do you want of Fate or 
 Fortune ? Nothing — except fame ! And that you will get 
 easily, for now-a-days even fame is purchasable — like love. 
 Your star is in the ascendant, — no more literary drudgery for 
 you my boy ! — pleasure and profit and ease are yours to enjoy 
 for the rest of your life. You are a lucky dog ! — at last you 
 have your day ! ' ' 
 
 I flung myself upon the soft bed, and settled myself to 
 sleep, — and as I dozed off, I still heard the rumble of heavy 
 thunder in the distance. Once I fancied I heard the prince's 
 voice calling "Amiel! Amiel !" with a wildness resembling 
 the shriek of an angry wind, — and at another moment I started 
 violently from a profound slumber under the impression that 
 someone had approached and was looking fixedly at me. I 
 sat up in bed, peering into the darkness, for the fire had gone 
 out ; — then I turned on a small electric night-lamp at my side 
 which fully illumined the room, — there was no one there. 
 Yet my imagination played me such tricks before I could rest 
 again that I thought I heard a hissing whisper near me that 
 said — 
 
 ^^ Peace! Trouble him not. Let the fool in his folly 
 sleep!" 
 
 V 
 
 The next morning on rising, I learned that * his Excel- 
 lency' as Prince Rimanez was called by his own servants and 
 the employes of the * Grand,' had gone out riding in the 
 Park, leaving me to breakfast alone. I therefore took that 
 meal in the public room of the hotel, where I was waited upon 
 with the utmost obsequiousness, in spite of my shabby clothes, 
 which I was of course still compelled to wear, having no 
 change. When would I be pleased to lunch ? At what hour 
 would I dine ? Should my present apartment be retained ? — 
 
46 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 or was it not satisfactory? Would I prefer a 'suite' similar to 
 that occupied by his Excellency? All these deferential ques- 
 tions first astonished and then amused me, — some mysterious 
 agency had evidently conveyed the rumor of my wealth among 
 those best fitted to receive it, and here was the first result. In 
 reply I said my movements were uncertain, — I should be able 
 to give definite instructions in the course of a few hours, and 
 that in the meantime I retained my room. The breakfast 
 over, I sallied forth to go to my lawyers, and was just about to 
 order a hansom when I saw my new friend coming back from 
 his ride. He bestrode a magnificent chestnut mare, whose 
 wild eyes and strained quivering limbs showed she was fresh 
 from a hard gallop and was scarcely yet satisfied to be under 
 close control. She curveted and danced among the carts and 
 cabs in a somewhat risky fashion, but she had her master in 
 Rimanez, who if he had looked handsome by night looked 
 still more so by day, with a slight colour warming the natural 
 pallor of his complexion and his eyes sparkling with all the 
 zest of exercise and enjoyment. I waited for his approach, as 
 did also Amiel, who as usual timed his appearance in the hotel 
 corridor in exact accordance with the moment of his master's 
 arrival. Rimanez smiled as he caught sight of me, touching 
 his hat with the handle of his whip by way of salutation. 
 
 *' You slept late. Tempest" — he said, as he dismounted and 
 threw the reins to a groom who had cantered up after him, — 
 *' Tomorrow you must come with me and join what they call 
 in fashionable slang parlance the Liver Brigade. Once upon 
 a time it was considered the height of indelicacy and low 
 breeding to mention the ' liver' or any other portion of one's 
 internal machinery, — but we have done with all that now, 
 and we find a peculiar satisfaction in discoursing of disease 
 and unsavoury medical matters generally. And in the Liver 
 Brigade you see at a glance all those interesting fellows who 
 have sold themselves to the devil for the sake of the flesh- 
 pots of Egypt, — men who eat till they are well-nigh bursting, 
 and then prance up and down on good horses, — much too 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 47 
 
 respectable beasts by the way to bear such bestial burdens — 
 in the hope of getting out of their poisoned blood the evil 
 they have themselves put in. They think me one of them, 
 but I am not." 
 
 He patted his mare, and the groom led her away, the foam 
 of her hard ride still flecking her glossy chest and forelegs. 
 
 "Why do you join the procession then !" I asked him, 
 laughing and glancing at him with undisguised approval as I 
 spoke, for he seemed more admirably built than ever in his 
 well-fitting riding gear — " You are a fraud !" 
 
 "I am!" he responded lightly — "And do you know I am 
 not the only one in London ! Where are you off to ?' ' 
 
 " To those lawyers who wrote to me last night ; — Bentham 
 and Ellis is the name of the firm. The sooner I interview 
 them the better; don't you think so?" 
 
 "Yes — but see here," — and he drew me aside — "You 
 must have some ready cash. It doesn't look well to apply at 
 once for advances, — and there is really no necessity to ex- 
 plain to these legal men that you were on the verge of starva- 
 tion when their letter arrived. Take this pocket-book, — re- 
 member you promised to let me be your banker, — and on 
 your way you might go to some well-reputed tailor and get 
 properly rigged out. Ta-ta !" 
 
 He moved off at a rapid pace, — I hurried after him, touched 
 to the quick by his kindness, 
 
 " But wait — I say — Lucio !" And I called him thus by his 
 familiar name for the first time. He stopped at once and 
 stood quite still. 
 
 " Well?" he said, regarding me with an attentive smile. 
 
 "You don't give me time to speak" — I answered in a low 
 voice, for we were standing in one of the public corridors of 
 the hotel — "The fact is I have some money, or rather I can 
 get it directly, — Carrington sent me a draft for fifty pounds 
 in his letter — I forgot to tell you about it. It was very good 
 of him to lend it to me, — you had better have it as security for 
 this pocket-book, — by-the-bye how much is there inside it?" 
 
48 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *' Five hundred, in bank notes of tens and twenties," — he 
 responded with business-like brevity. 
 
 "Five hundred! My dear fellow, I don't want all that. 
 It's too much !" 
 
 *' Better have too much than too little now-a-days," — he 
 retorted with a laugh — " My dear Tempest, don't make such 
 a business of it. Five hundred pounds is really nothing. 
 You can spend it all on a dressing-case for example. Better 
 send back John Carrington's draft, — I don't think much of 
 his generosity considering that he came into a mine worth 
 a hundred thousand pounds sterling a few days before I left 
 Australia. ' ' 
 
 I heard this with great surprise, and, I must admit with a 
 slight feeling of resentment too. The frank and generous 
 character of my old chum * Boffles' seemed to darken sud- 
 denly in my eyes, — why could he not have told me of his 
 good fortune in his letter ? Was he afraid I might trouble 
 him for further loans? I suppose my looks expressed my 
 thoughts, for Rimanez, who had observed me intently, pres- 
 ently added — 
 
 "Did he not tell you of his luck? That was not very 
 friendly of him — but as I remarked last night, money often 
 spoils a man." 
 
 " Oh, I daresay he meant no slight by the omission," I 
 said hurriedly, forcing a smile — "No doubt he will make it 
 the subject of his next letter. Now as to this five hun- 
 dred"— 
 
 "Keep it, man, keep it" — he interposed impatiently — 
 " What do you talk about security for ? Haven't I got you as 
 security ?" 
 
 I laughed. "Well, I am fairly reliable now" — I said — 
 " And I'm not going to run away." 
 
 " From me .?" he queried, with a half cold, half kind glance. 
 "No, — I fancy not !" 
 
 He waved his hand lightly, and left me, and I, putting the 
 leather case of notes in my inner breast-pocket, hailed a 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 49 
 
 hansom, and was driven off rapidly to Basinghall Street where 
 my sohcitors awaited me. 
 
 Arrived at my destination, I sent up my name, and was 
 received at once with the utmost respect by two small chips 
 of men in rusty black who represented ' the firm. ' At my 
 request they sent down their clerk to pay and dismiss my cab, 
 while I, opening Lucio's pocket book, asked them to change 
 me a ten-pound note into gold and silver which they did with 
 ready good-will. Then we went into business together. My 
 deceased relative, whom I had never seen as far as I myself 
 remembered, but who had seen me as a motherless baby in 
 my nurse's arms, had left me everything he possessed uncon- 
 ditionally, including several rare collections of pictures, jewels 
 and curios. His will was so concisely and clearly worded 
 that there were no possibilities of any legal hair-splitting over 
 it, — and I was informed that in a week or ten days at the 
 utmost, everything would be in order and at my sole dispo- 
 sition. 
 
 *'You are a very fortunate man, Mr Tempest" — said the 
 senior partner, Mr Bentham, as he folded up the last of the 
 papers we had been looking through and put it by — ''At your 
 age this princely inheritance may be either a great boon to 
 you or a great curse, — one never knows. The possession of 
 such enormous wealth involves great responsibilities." 
 
 I was amused at what I considered the impertinence of this 
 mere servant of the law in presuming to moralize on my luck. 
 
 *' Many people would be glad to accept such responsibilities 
 and change places with me," — I said with a flippant air — 
 ** You yourself, for example ?' ' 
 
 I knew this remark was not in' good taste, but I made it 
 wilfully, feeling that he had no business to preach to me as 
 it were on the responsibilities of wealth. He took no offence 
 however, — he merely gave me an observant side glance like 
 that of some meditative crow. 
 
 ''No, Mr Tempest, no" — he said drily — "I do not think 
 I should at all be disposed to change places with you. I feel 
 c d 5 
 
50 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 very well satisfied as I am. My brain is my bank, and brings 
 me in quite sufficient interest to live upon, which is all that 
 I desire. To be comfortable, and pay one's way honestly is 
 enough for me. I have never envied the wealthy." 
 
 "Mr Bentham is a philosopher," — interposed his partner 
 Mr Ellis smiling — " In our profession Mr Tempest, we see 
 so many ups and downs of life, that in watching the variable 
 fortunes of our clients, we ourselves learn the lesson of con- 
 tent." 
 
 ''Ah, it is a lesson that I have never mastered till now !" 
 I responded merrily — ''But at the present moment I confess 
 myself satisfied." 
 
 They each gave me a formal little bow, and Mr Bentham 
 shook hands. 
 
 " Business being concluded, allow me to congratulate you," 
 he said politely — "Of course, if you should wish at any time 
 to entrust your legal affairs to other hands my partner and 
 myself are perfectly willing to withdraw. Your deceased 
 relative had the highest confidence in us . . . " 
 
 "As I have also, I assure you" — I interrupted quickly — 
 " Pray do me the favour to continue managing things for me 
 as you did for my relative and be assured of my gratitude in 
 advance." 
 
 Both little men bowed again, and this time Mr Ellis shook 
 hands. 
 
 "We shall do our best for you, Mr Tempest, shall we not 
 Bentham?" Bentham nodded gravely. "And now what 
 do you say — shall we mention it Bentham ? — or shall we not 
 mention it ?" 
 
 "Perhaps," responded Bentham sententiously — " it would 
 be as well to mention it," 
 
 I glanced from one to the other, not understanding what 
 they rneant. Mr Ellis rubbed his hands and smiled depre- 
 catingly. 
 
 "The fact is Mr Tempest, your deceased relative had one 
 very curious idea — he was a shrewd man and a clever one, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 51 
 
 but he certainly had one very curious idea — and perhaps if 
 he had followed it up to any extent, it might — yes, it might 
 have landed him in a lunatic asylum and prevented his dis- 
 posing of his extensive fortune in the — er — the very just and 
 reasonable manner he has done. Happily for himself and — 
 er — for you, he did not follow it up, and to the last he re- 
 tained his admirable business qualities and high sense of recti- 
 tude. But I do not think he ever quite dispossessed himself 
 ot the idea itself, did he Bentham ?^ 
 
 Bentham gazed meditatively at the round black mark of 
 the gas-burner where it darkened the ceiling, 
 
 " I think not, — no, I think not," he answered — " I believe 
 he was perfectly convinced of it." 
 
 "And what was it ?" I asked, getting impatient — " Did he 
 want to bring out some patent ? — a new notion for a flying- 
 machine, and get rid of his money in that way ?" 
 
 " No, no, no !" and Mr Ellis laughed a soft pleasant little 
 laugh over my suggestion — "No, my dear sir — nothing of a 
 purely mechanical or commercial turn captivated his imagina- 
 tion. He was too er — yes, I think I may say too profoundly 
 opposed to what is called ' progress' in the world to aid it by 
 any new invention or other means whatever. You see it is a 
 little awkward for me to explain to .you what really seems to 
 be the most absurd and fantastic notion, — but — to begin 
 with, we never really knew how he made his money, did we 
 Bentham?" 
 
 Bentham shook his head and pursed his lips closely to- 
 gether. 
 
 ' ' We had to take charge of large sums, and advise as to 
 investments and other matters, — but it was not our business to 
 inquire where the cash came from in the first place, was it, 
 Bentham?" 
 
 Again Bentham shook his head solemnly. 
 
 "We were entrusted with it" — went on his partner, press- 
 ing the tips of his fingers together caressingly as he spoke — 
 " and we did our best to fulfil that trust— with — er— with dis- 
 
52 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 cretion and fidelity. And it was only after we had been for 
 many years connected in business that our client mentioned — 
 er — his idea ; — a most erratic and extraordinary one, which 
 was briefly this — that he had sold himself to the devil, and 
 that his large fortune was one result of the bargain !" 
 
 I burst out laughing heartily. 
 
 " What a ridiculous notion !" I exclaimed — " Poor man I — 
 a weak spot in his brain somewhere evidently, — or perhaps he 
 used the expression as a mere figure of speech?" 
 
 "I think not" — responded Mr Ellis half interrogatively, 
 still caressing his fingers — " I think our client did not use the 
 phrase ' sold to the devil' as a figure of speech merely, Mr 
 Bentham?" 
 
 '* I am positive he did not" — said Bentham seriously — ''He 
 spoke of the ' bargain' as an actual and accomplished fact. ' ' 
 
 I laughed again with a trifle less boisterousness. 
 
 "Well, people have all sorts of fancies now-a-days" — I 
 said. " What with Blavatskyism, Besantism and hypnotism, it 
 is no wonder if some folks still have a faint credence in the 
 silly old superstition of a devil's existence. But for a thor- 
 oughly sensible man ..." 
 
 *'Yes — er, yes" — interrupted Mr Ellis — "Your relative 
 Mr Tempest, 7vas a thoroughly sensible man, and this — er — 
 this idea was the only fancy that ever appeared to have taken 
 root in his eminently practical mind. Being only an idea 
 it seemed hardly worth mentioning — but perhaps it is well 
 — Mr Bentham agreeing with me — that we have mentioned 
 it." 
 
 " It is a satisfaction and relief to ourselves" — said Mr Ben- 
 tham, " to have had it mentioned." 
 
 I smiled, and thanking them, rose to go. They bowed to me 
 once more, simultaneously, looking almost like twin brothers, 
 so identically had their united practice of the law impressed 
 itself upon their features. 
 
 "Good-day, Mr Tempest," — said Mr Bentham—"! need 
 scarcely say that we shall serve you as we served our late client, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 53 
 
 to the best of our ability. And in matters where advice may 
 be pleasant or profitable, we may possibly be of use to you. 
 May we ask whether you require any cash advances imme- 
 diately ?" 
 
 '* No, thank you" — I answered, feeling grateful to my friend 
 Rimanez for having placed me in a perfectly independent 
 position to confront these solicitors — '' I am amply pro- 
 vided." 
 
 They seemed, I fancied, a trifle surprised at this, but were 
 too discreet to offer any remark. They wrote down my ad- 
 dress at the Grand Hotel, and sent their clerk to show me to 
 the door. I gave this man half-a-sovereign to drink my health 
 which he very cheerfully promised to do, — then I walked 
 round by the Law Courts, trying to realize that I was not in 
 a dizzy dream, but that I was actually and solidly, five times 
 a millionaire. As luck would have it, in turning a corner I 
 jostled up against a man coming the other way, the very pub- 
 lisher who had returned me my rejected manuscript the day 
 before. 
 
 ** Hullo !" he exclaimed stopping short. 
 
 "Hullo!" I rejoined. 
 
 " Where are you off to?" he went on — " Going to try and 
 place that unlucky novel ? My dear boy, believe me it will 
 never do as it is. . . ." 
 
 " It will do, it shall do" — I said calmly — *'I am going to 
 publish it myself. ' ' 
 
 He started. ''Publish it yourself! Good heavens! — it 
 will cost you — ah ! — sixty or seventy, perhaps a hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 " I don't care if it costs me a thousand !" 
 
 A red flush came into his face, and his eyes opened in 
 astonishment. 
 
 ''I thought . . . excuse me . . ." he stammered awk- 
 wardly, '' I thought money was scarce with you " 
 
 '' It was," I answered drily — " It isn't now." 
 
 Then, his utterly bewildered look, together with the whole 
 
 5* 
 
54 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 topsy-turviness of things in my altered position, struck me so 
 forcibly that I burst out laughing, wildly and with a prolonged 
 noise and violence that apparently alarmed him, for he began 
 looking nervously about him in all directions as if meditating 
 flight. I caught him by the arm. 
 
 " Look here man," I said, trying to conquer my almost hys- 
 terical mirth — *' I'm not mad — don't you think it, — I'm only 
 a — millionaire !" And I began laughing again ; the situation 
 seemed to me so sublimely ridiculous. But the worthy pub- 
 lisher did not see it at all — and his features expressed so much 
 genuine alarm that I made a further effort to control myself 
 and succeeded. '' I assure you on my word of honour I'm 
 not joking — it's a fact. Last night I wanted a dinner, and 
 you like a good fellow offered to give me one, — to-day I 
 possess five millions of money ! Don't stare so ! don't have 
 a fit of apoplexy ! And as I have told you, I shall publish 
 my book myself at my own expense, and it shall succeed. 
 Oh I'm in earnest, grim earnest, grim as death ! — I've more than 
 enough in my pocket book to pay for its publication now .^" 
 
 I loosed my hold of him, and he fell back stupefied and 
 confused. 
 
 "God bless my soul!" he muttered feebly — "It's like a 
 dream ! — I was never more astonished in my life !" 
 
 " Nor I !" I said, another temptation to laughter threaten- 
 ing my composure, — " But strange things happen in life as 
 in fiction. And that book which the builders — I mean the 
 readers — rejected, shall be the headstone of the corner — or 
 — the success of the season. What will you take to bring it 
 out?" 
 
 "Take? I? I bring it out ?" 
 
 "Yes, you — why not? If I offer you a chance to turn an 
 honest penny, shall your paid pack of * readers' prevent your 
 accepting it ? Fie ! you are not a slave, — this is a free 
 country. I know the kind of people who ' read' for you, — 
 the gaunt unlovable spinster of fifty, — the dyspeptic book- 
 worm who is a ' literary failure' and can find nothing else to 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 55 
 
 do but scrawl growling comments on the manuscript of 
 promising work, — why in heaven's name should you rely on 
 such incompetent opinion? I'll pay you for the publication 
 of my book at as stiff a price as you choose and something 
 over for good-will. And I guarantee you another thing — it 
 shall not only make my name as an author, but yours as a 
 publisher. I'll advertise royally, and I'll work the press. 
 Everything in this world can be done for money ..." 
 
 ''Stop, stop," — he interrupted. — "This is so sudden! 
 You must let me think of it — you must give me time to con- 
 sider " 
 
 " Take a day for your meditations then," I said — '' But no 
 longer. For if you don't say yes I'll get another man, and 
 he'll have the big pickings instead of you. Be wise in time, 
 my friend ! — good-day!" 
 
 He ran after me. 
 
 " Stay, — look here ! You're so strange, so wild — so erratic 
 you know ! Your head seems quite turned !" 
 
 ''It is ! The right way round this time !" 
 
 " Dear dear me," and he smiled benevolently — "Why you 
 don't give me a chance to congratulate you. I really do, you 
 know — I congratulate you sincerely !" And he shook me by 
 the hand quite fervently. "And as regards the book, I 
 believe there was really no fault found with it in the matter 
 of literary style or quality, — it was simply too — too tran- 
 scendental, and unlikely therefore to suit the public taste. 
 The Domestic-Iniquity line is what we find pays best at 
 present. But I will think about it — where will a letter find 
 you?" 
 
 "Grand Hotel," I responded i«wardly amused at his puz- 
 zled and anxious expression — I knew he was already mentally 
 calculating how much he could make out of me in the pursuit 
 of my literary whim — " Come there and lunch or dine with 
 me to morrow if you like — only send me a word beforehand. 
 Reniember, I give you just a day's grace to decide, — it must 
 be yes or no in twenty-four hours ! ' ' 
 
56 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 And with this I left him, staring vaguely after me like a 
 man who has seen some nameless wonder drop out of the sky 
 at his feet. I went on, laughing to myself inaudibly, till I 
 saw one or two passers by looking at me so surprisedly, that I 
 came to the conclusion that I must put a disguise on my 
 thoughts if I would not be taken for a madman. I walked 
 briskly, and presently my excitement cooled down. I resumed 
 the normal condition of the phlegmatic Englishman, who 
 considers it the height of bad form to display any personal 
 emotion whatever, and I occupied the rest of the morning in 
 purchasing some ready-made apparel, which by unusual good 
 luck happened to fit me, and also in giving an extensive, not 
 to say extravagant order to a fashionable tailor in Sackville 
 Street who promised me everything with punctuality and de- 
 spatch. I next sent off the rent I owed to the landlady of 
 my former lodgings, adding five pounds extra by way of recog- 
 nition of the poor woman's long patience in giving me credit, 
 and general kindness towards me during my stay in her dismal 
 house, — and this done, I returned to the Grand in high spirits, 
 looking and feeling very much the better for my ready-made 
 outfit. A waiter met me in the corridor, and with the most 
 obsequious deference, informed me that ' his Excellency the 
 prince' was waiting luncheon for me in his own apartments. 
 Thither I repaired at once, and found my new friend alone in his 
 sumptuous drawing-room, standing near the full light of the 
 largest window and holding in his hand an oblong crystal case 
 through which he was looking with an almost affectionate 
 solicitude. 
 
 "Ah, Geoffrey! Here you are!" he exclaimed — ''I im- 
 agined you would get thropgh your business by lunch time, so 
 I waited." 
 
 "Very good of you !" I said, pleased at the friendly famili- 
 arity he displayed in thus calling me by my Christian name — 
 " What have you got there?" 
 
 "A pet of mine" — he answered, smiling slightly — "Did 
 you ever see anything like it before?" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 57 
 
 VI 
 
 I APPROACHED and examined the box he held. It was per- 
 forated with finely drilled holes for the admission of air, and 
 within it lay a brilliant winged insect coloured with all the 
 tints and half-tints of the rainbow. 
 
 ''Is it alive?" I asked. 
 
 *'It is alive, and has a sufficient share of intelligence," — 
 replied Rimanez. " I feed it, and it knows me, — that is the 
 utmost you can say of the most civilized human beings ; they 
 know what feeds them. It is quite tame and friendly as you 
 perceive," — and opening the case he gently advanced his fore- 
 finger. The glittering beetle's body palpitated with the hues 
 of an opal, its radiant wings expanded, and it rose at once 
 to its protector's hand and clung there. He lifted it out 
 and held it aloft, then shaking it to and fro lightly, he ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 '' Off, Sprite ! Fly, and return to me !" 
 
 The creature soared away through the room, and round and 
 round the ceiling, looking like a beautiful iridescent jewel, 
 the whirr of its wings making a faint buzzing sound as it 
 flew. I watched it fascinated, till after a few graceful move- 
 ments hither and thither, it returned to its owner's still out- 
 stretched hand, and again settled there, making no further 
 attempt to fly. 
 
 *' There is a well-worn platitude which declares that ' in the 
 midst of life we are in death,' " — said the prince then softly, 
 bending his dark deep eyes on the insect's quivering wings — 
 *' But as a matter of fact that maxim is wrong as so many trite 
 human maxims are. It should be ' in the midst of death we 
 are in life.' This creature is a rare and curious production 
 of death, but not I believe the only one of its kind. Others 
 have been found under precisely similar circumstances. I 
 
58 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 took possession of this one myself in rather a weird fashion, 
 — will the story bore you ?" 
 
 ''On the contrary," — I rejoined eagerly, my eyes fixed 
 on the radiant bat-shaped thing that glittered in the light as 
 though its veins were phosphorescent. 
 
 He paused a moment, watching me. 
 
 " Well, — it happened simply thus, — I was present at the 
 uncasing of an Egyptian female mummy ; — her talismans 
 described her as a princess of a famous royal house. Several 
 curious jewels were tied round her neck, and on her chest was 
 a piece of beaten gold quarter of an inch thick. Underneath 
 this gold plate, her body was swathed round and round in an 
 unusual number of scented wrappings ; and when these were 
 removed it was discovered that the mummified flesh between 
 her breasts had decayed away, and in the hollow or nest thus 
 formed by the process of decomposition, this insect I hold, was 
 found alive, as brilliant in colour as it is now." 
 
 I could not repress a slight nervous shudder. 
 
 ''Horrible!" I said — "I confess, if I were you, I should 
 not care to make a pet of such an uncanny object. I should 
 kill it, I think." 
 
 He kept his bright intent gaze upon me. 
 
 "Why?" he asked. "I'm afraid, my dear Geoffrey, you 
 are not disposed to study science. To kill the poor thing who 
 managed to find life in the very bosom of death, is a cruel 
 suggestion, is it not? To me, this unclassified insect is a 
 valuable proof (if I needed one) of the indestructibility of 
 the germs of conscious existence ; it has eyes, and the senses 
 of taste, smell, touch and hearing, — and it gained these, to- 
 gether with its intelligence, out of the dead flesh of a woman 
 who lived, and no doubt loved and sinned and suffered, more 
 than four thousand years ago !" He broke off, — then sud- 
 denly added — "All the same I frankly admit to you that I 
 believe it to be an evil creature. I do indeed ! But I like it 
 none the less for that. In fact I have rather a fantastic notion 
 about it myself. I am much inclined to accept the idea of the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 59 
 
 transmigration of souls, and so I please my humour sometimes 
 by thinking that perhaps the princess of that Royal Egyptian 
 house had a wicked, brilliant, vampire soul, — and that .... 
 here it is /' ' 
 
 A cold thrill ran through me from head to foot at these 
 words, and as I looked at the speaker standing opposite me 
 in the wintry light, dark and tall, with the ' wicked, brilliant, 
 vampire soul' clinging to his hand, there seemed to me to be 
 a sudden hideousness declared in his excessive personal beauty. 
 I was conscious of a vague terror ; but I attributed it to the 
 gruesome nature of the story, and, determining to combat my 
 sensations, I examined the weird insect more closely. As I 
 did so, its bright beady eyes sparkled, I thought, vindictively, 
 and I stepped back, vexed with myself at the foolish fear of 
 the thing which overpowered me. 
 
 *' It is certainly remarkable," — I murmured — '' No wonder 
 you value it, — as a curiosity. Its eyes are quite distinct, 
 almost intelligent in fact." 
 
 ^' No doubt she had beautiful eyes," — said Rimanez smiling. 
 
 *' She ? Whom do you mean ?" 
 
 *' The princess, of course !" he answered, evidently amused ; 
 *' The dear dead lady, — some of whose personality must be in 
 this creature, seeing that it had nothing but her body to 
 nourish itself upon." 
 
 And here he replaced the creature in its crystal habitation 
 with the utmost care. 
 
 "I suppose" — I said slowly, ''you, in your pursuit of 
 science, would infer from this, that nothing actually perishes 
 completely ?" 
 
 '' Exactly !" returned Rimanez emphatically. *' There, my 
 dear Tempest, is the mischief, — or the deity, — of things. 
 Nothing can be entirely annihilated ; — not even a thought." 
 
 I was silent, watching him while he put the glass case with 
 its uncanny occupant away out of sight. 
 
 ''And now for luncheon," he said gaily, passing his arm 
 through mine — " You look twenty per cent, better than when 
 
6o THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 you went out this morning, Geoffrey, so I conclude your legal 
 matters are disposed of satisfactorily. And what else have you 
 done with yourself?" 
 
 Seated at table with the dark-faced Amiel in attendance, I 
 related my morning's adventures, dwelling at length on my 
 chance meeting with the publisher who had on the previous 
 day refused my manuscript, and who now, I felt sure, would 
 be only too glad to close with the offer I had made him. 
 Rimanez listened attentively, smiling now and then. 
 
 '' Of course !" he said, when I had concluded. '' There is 
 nothing in the least surprising in the conduct of the worthy 
 man. In fact I think he showed remarkable discretion and 
 decency in not at once jumping at your proposition, — his 
 pleasant hypocrisy in retiring to think it over shows him to 
 be a person of tact and foresight. Did you ever imagine 
 that a human being or a human conscience existed that could 
 not be bought ? My good fellow, you can buy a king if you 
 only give a long price enough ; and the Pope will sell you a 
 specially reserved seat in his heaven if you will only hand him 
 the cash down while he is on earth ! Nothing is given free in 
 this world save the air and the sunshine, — everything else must 
 be bought, — with blood, tears and groans occasionally, — but 
 oftenest with money." 
 
 I fancied that Amiel, behind his master's chair, smiled 
 darkly at this, — and my instinctive dislike of the fellow kept 
 me more or less reticent concerning my affairs till the luncheon 
 was over. I could not formulate to myself any substantial 
 reason for my aversion to this confidential servant of the 
 prince's, — but do what I would, the aversion remained, and 
 increased each time I saw his sullen, and as I thought, sneer- 
 ing features. Yet he was perfectly respectful and deferential ; 
 I could find no actual fault with him, — nevertheless when at 
 last he placed the coffee, cognac, and cigars on the table and 
 noiselessly withdrew, I was conscious of a great relief, and 
 breathed more freely. As soon as we were alone, Rimanez 
 lit a cigar and settled himself for a smoke, looking over at me 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 6i 
 
 with a personal interest and kindness which made his hand- 
 some face more than ever attractive. 
 
 *' Now let us talk" — he said — " I believe I am at present the 
 best friend you have, and I certainly know the world better 
 than you do. What do you propose to make of your life ? 
 Or in other words how do you mean to begin spending your 
 money?" 
 
 I laughed. "Well I shan't provide funds for the building 
 of a church, or the endowment of a hospital" — I said — "I 
 shall not even start a Free Library, for these institutions, 
 besides becoming centres for infectious diseases, generally 
 get presided over by a committee of local grocers who pre- 
 sume to consider themselves judges of literature. My dear 
 Prince Rimanez, I mean to spend my money on my own 
 pleasure, and I daresay I shall find plenty of ways to do it." 
 
 Rimanez fanned away the smoke of his cigar with one hand, 
 and his dark eyes shone with a peculiarly vivid light through 
 the pale grey floating haze. 
 
 " With your fortune, you could make hundreds of miserable 
 people happy," — he suggested. 
 
 "Thanks, I would rather be happy myself first," — I an- 
 swered gaily — " I daresay I seem to you selfish, — you are phil- 
 anthropic I know; I am not." 
 
 He still regarded me steadily. 
 
 " You might help your fellow-workers in literature. ..." 
 
 I interrupted him with a decided gesture. 
 
 "That I will never do, my friend, though the heavens 
 should crack ! My fellow- workers in literature have kicked 
 me down at every opportunity, and done their best to keep 
 me from earning a bare livelihood, — it is my turn at kicking 
 now, and I will show them as little mercy, as little help, as 
 little sympathy as they have shown me ! " 
 
 " Revenge is sweet !" he quoted sententiously — " I should 
 recommend your starting a high-class half-crown magazine." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Can you ask? Just think of the ferocious satisfaction it 
 
 6 
 
62 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 would give you to receive the manuscripts of your literary 
 enemies, and reject them ! To throw their letters into the 
 waste-paper basket, and send back their poems, stories, politi- 
 cal articles and what not, with ' Returned with thanks'' or ^ Not 
 up to our mark' type-written on the backs thereof ! To dig 
 knives into your rivals through the medium of anonymous 
 criticism ! The howling joy of a savage with twenty scalps 
 at his belt would be tame in comparison to it ! I was an editor 
 once myself, and I know !" 
 
 I laughed at his whimsical earnestness. 
 
 *' I daresay you are right" — I said — '' I can grasp the venge- 
 ful position thoroughly ! But the management of a maga- 
 zine would be too much trouble to me, — too much of a 
 tie." 
 
 ^^ Don't manage it! Follow the example of all the big 
 editors, and live out of the business altogether, — but take the 
 profits ! You never see the real editor of a leading daily news- 
 paper you know, — you can only interview the sub. The real 
 man is, according to the seasons of the year, at Ascot, in Scot- 
 land, at Newmarket, or wintering in Egypt, — he is supposed 
 to be responsible for everything in his journal, but he is gen- 
 erally the last person who knows anything about it. He relies 
 on his * staff' — a very bad crutch at times, — and when his 
 * staff are in a difficulty, they get out of it by saying they are 
 unable to decide without the editor. Meanwhile the editor is 
 miles away, comfortably free from worry. You could bam- 
 boozle the public in that way if you liked." 
 
 "■ I could, but I shouldn't care to do so," I answered — "■ If 
 I had a business, I would not neglect it. I believe in doing 
 things thoroughly." 
 
 " So do I !" responded Rimanez promptly. '*I am a very 
 thorough-going fellow myself, and whatever my hand findeth 
 to do, I do it with my might ! — excuse me for quoting Scrip- 
 ture!" He smiled, a little ironically I thought, then re- 
 sumed — ''Well, in what, at present does your idea of enjoy- 
 ing your heritage consist ?" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 63 
 
 *' In publishing my book," I answered. '' That very book 
 I could get no one to accept, — I tell you, I will make it the 
 talk of London !" 
 
 " Possibly you will" — he said, looking at me through half- 
 closed eyes and a cloud of smoke, — "London easily talks. 
 Particularly on unsavoury and questionable subjects. There- 
 fore, — as I have already hinted, — if your book were a judi- 
 cious mixture of Zola, Huysmans and Baudelaire, or had 
 for its heroine a * modest' maid who considered honourable 
 marriage a ' degradation,' it would be quite sure of success in 
 these days of new Sodom and Gomorrah." Here he sud- 
 denly sprang up, and flinging away his cigar, confronted me. 
 " Why do not the heavens rain fire on this accursed city ! It 
 is ripe for punishment, — full of abhorrent creatures not worth 
 the torturing in hell to which it is said liars and hypocrites 
 are condemned ! Tempest, if there is one human being more 
 than another that I utterly abhor, it is the type of man so 
 common to the present time, the man who huddles his own 
 loathly vices under a cloak of assumed broad-mindedness and 
 virtue. Such an one will even deify the loss of chastity in 
 woman by the name of ' purity,' — because he knows that it is 
 by her moral and physical ruin alone that he can gratify his 
 brutal lusts. Rather than be such a sanctimonious coward, I 
 would openly proclaim myself vile." 
 
 "That is because yours is a noble nature" — I said — "You 
 are an exception to the rule." 
 
 "An exception? I?" — and he laughed bitterly — "Yes, 
 you are right ; I am an exception among men perhaps, — but 
 I am one with the beasts, — in honesty ! The lion does not 
 assume the manners of the dove, — he loudly announces his 
 own ferocity. The very cobra, stealthy though its move- 
 ments be, evinces its meaning by a warning hiss or rattle. 
 The hungry wolf's bay is heard far down the wind, intimi- 
 dating the hurrying traveller among the wastes of snow. 
 But man gives no clue to his intent — more malignant than 
 the lion, more treacherous than the snake, more greedy than 
 
64 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the wolf, he takes his fellow-man's hand in pretended friend- 
 ship, and an hour later defames his character behind his 
 back, — with a smiling face he hides a false and selfish heart, 
 — flinging his pigmy mockery at the riddle of the Universe, 
 he stands gibing at God, feebly a-straddle on his own earth- 
 grave — Heavens!" — here he stopped short with a passionate 
 gesture — ''What should the Eternities do with such a thank- 
 less, blind worm as he ! " 
 
 His voice rang out with singular emphasis, — his eyes 
 glowed with a fiery ardour ; startled by his impressive manner 
 I let my cigar die out and stared at him in mute amazement. 
 What an inspired countenance ! — what an imposing figure ! — 
 how sovereignly supreme and almost god -like in his looks he 
 seemed at the moment; — and yet there was something terri- 
 fying in his attitude of protest and defiance. He caught my 
 wondering glance, — the glow of passion faded from his face, 
 — he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 '' I think I was born to be an actor" — he said carelessly — 
 ** Now and then the love of declamation masters me. Then 
 I speak — as Prime Ministers and men in Parliament speak — 
 to suit the humour of the hour, and without meaning a single 
 word I say ! ' ' 
 
 " I cannot accept that statement," — I answered him, smiling 
 a little — ** You do mean what you say, — though I fancy you 
 are rather a creature of impulse." 
 
 " Do you really!" he exclaimed — ''How wise of you! — 
 good Geoffrey Tempest, how very wise of you ! But you 
 are wrong. There never was a being created who was less 
 impulsive, or more charged with set purpose than I. Be- 
 lieve me or not as you like, — belief is a sentiment that cannot 
 be forced. If I told you that I am a dangerous companion, 
 — that I like evil things better than good, — that I am not a 
 safe guide for any man, what would you think?" 
 
 "I should think you were whimsically fond of underesti- 
 mating your own qualities" — I said, re-lighting my cigar, and 
 feeling somewhat amused by his earnestness — "And I should 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 65 
 
 like you just as well as I do now, — perhaps better, — though 
 that would be difficult." 
 
 At these words, he seated himself, bending his steadfast dark 
 eyes full upon me. 
 
 '^ Tempest, you follow the fashion of the prettiest women 
 about town, — they always like the greatest scoundrels !" 
 
 " But you are not a scoundrel" — I rejoined, smoking peace- 
 fully. 
 
 " No, — I'm not a scoundrel, but there's a good deal of the 
 devil in me." 
 
 ''AH the better !" I said, stretching myself out in my chair 
 with lazy comfort — '' I hope there's something of him in me 
 too." 
 
 " Do you believe in him?" asked Rimanez smiling. 
 
 ''The devil? of course not." 
 
 " He is a very fascinating legendary personage" — continued 
 the prince, lighting another cigar and beginning to puff at it 
 slowly — " and he is the subject of many a fine story. Picture 
 his fall from heaven ! — 'Lucifer, Son of the Morning' — what 
 a title, and what a birthright ! To be born of the morning 
 implies to be a creature formed of translucent light undefiled, 
 with all the warm rose of a million orbs of day colouring his 
 bright essence, and all the lustre of fiery planets flaming in 
 his eyes. Splendid and supreme, at the right hand of Deity 
 itself he stood, this majestic Arch-angel, and before his un- 
 wearied vision rolled the grandest creative splendours of God's 
 thoughts and dreams. All at once he perceived in the vista 
 of embryonic things a new small world, and on it a being 
 forming itself slowly as it were into the Angelic likeness, — a 
 being weak yet strong, sublime yet foolish, — a strange para- 
 dox, destined to work its way through all the phases of life, 
 till imbibing the very breath and soul of the Creator it should 
 touch Conscious Immortality, — Eternal Joy. Then Lucifer, 
 full of wrath, turned on the Master of the Spheres, and flung 
 forth his reckless defiance, crying aloud — ' Wilt thou make of 
 this slight poor creature an Angel even as I ? I do protest 
 e 6* 
 
66 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 against thee and condemn ! Lo, if thou makest Man in Our 
 image I will destroy him utterly, as unfit to share with me the 
 splendours of Thy Wisdom, — the glory of Thy love !' And 
 the Voice Supreme, in accents terrible and beautiful replied — 
 ' Lucifer, Son of the Morning, full well dost thou know that 
 never can an idle or wasted word be spoken before Me. For 
 Free-will is the gift of the Immortals ; therefore what thou 
 sayest, thou must needs do ! Fall, proud Spirit from thy high 
 estate ! — thou and thy companions with thee ! — and return no 
 more till Man himself redeem thee ! Each human soul that 
 yields unto thy tempting shall be a new barrier set between 
 thee and heaven ; each one that of its own choice doth repel 
 and overcome thee, shall lift thee nearer thy lost home ! When 
 the world rejects thee, I will pardon and again receive thee, — ■ 
 but not till thefi.' " 
 
 " I never heard exactly that version of the legend before," 
 — I said, — "The idea that Man should redeem the devil is 
 quite new to me. ' ' , 
 
 **Is it?" and he looked at me fixedly — ''W^ell — it is one 
 form of the story, and by no means the most unpoetical. 
 Poor Lucifer ! His punishment is of course eternal, and the 
 distance between himself and Heaven must be rapidly increas- 
 ing every day, — for Man will never assist him to retrieve his 
 error. Man will reject God fast enough and gladly enough 
 — but never the devil. Judge then, how, under the peculiar 
 circumstances of his doom, this ' Lucifer, Son of the Morning,' 
 Satan, or whatever else he is called, must hate Humanity !" 
 
 I smiled. ''Well he has one remedy left to him" — I ob- 
 served — " He need not tempt anybody." 
 
 "You forget ! — he is bound to keep his word, according to 
 the legend," — said Rimanez — " He swore before God that he 
 would destroy Man utterly, — he must therefore fulfil that oath, 
 if he can. Angels, it would seem, may not swear before the 
 Eternal without endeavouring at least to fulfil their vows, — 
 men swear in the name of God every day without the slightest 
 intention of carrying out their promises." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 67 
 
 "But it's all the veriest nonsense" — I said somewhat im- 
 patiently — ''All these old legends are rubbish. You tell the 
 story well, and almost as if you believed in it, — that is because 
 you have the gift of speaking with eloquence, Now-a-days no 
 one believes in either devils or angels ; — I, for example, do 
 not even believe in the soul," 
 
 '' I know you do not" — he answered suavely — ''And your 
 scepticism is very comfortable because it relieves you of all 
 personal responsibility, I envy you ! For — I regret to say, I 
 am compelled to believe in the soul," 
 
 "Compelled!" I echoed — "That is absurd — no one can 
 compel you to accept a mere theory." 
 
 He looked at me with a flitting smile that darkened rather 
 than lightened his face. 
 
 "True! very true ! There is no compelling force in the 
 whole Universe, — Man is the supreme and independent 
 creature, — master of all he surveys and owning no other 
 dominion save his personal desire. True — I forgot ! Let us 
 avoid theology, please, and psychology also, — let us talk 
 about the only subject that has any sense or interest in it — 
 namely, Money. I perceive your present plans are definite, 
 — you wish to publish a book that shall create a stir and make 
 you famous. It seems a modest enough campaign ! Have 
 you no wider ambitions ? There are several ways, you know, 
 of getting talked about. Shall I enumerate them for your 
 consideration?" 
 
 I laughed. "If you like!" 
 
 " Well, in the first place I should suggest your getting your- 
 self properly paragraphed. It must be known to the press 
 that you are an exceedingly rich man. There is an Agency 
 for the circulation of paragraphs, — I daresay they'll do it 
 sufficiently well for about ten or twenty guineas." 
 
 I opened my eyes a little at this. 
 
 " Oh, is that the way these things are done?" 
 
 "My dear fellow how else should they be done?" he de- 
 manded somewhat impatiently — "Do you think anything in 
 
68 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the world is done without money? Are the poor, hardwork- 
 ing journalists your brothers or your bosom friends that they 
 should lift you into public notice without getting something 
 for their trouble? If you do not manage them properly in 
 this way, they'll abuse you quite heartily and free of cost, — 
 that I can promise you! I know a 'literary agent,' a very 
 worthy man too, who for a hundred guineas down, will so ply 
 the paragraph wheel that in a few weeks it shall seem to the 
 outside public that Geoffrey Tempest, the millionaire, is the 
 only person worth talking about, and the one desirable crea- 
 ture whom to shake hands with is next in honour to meeting 
 Royalty itself." 
 
 *' Secure him !" I said indolently — '' And pay him two hun- 
 dred guineas ! So shall all the world hear of me !" 
 
 *' When you have been paragraphed thoroughly," went on 
 Rimanez — " the next move will be a dash into what is called 
 ' swagger' society. This must be done cautiously and by de- 
 grees. You must be presented at the first Levee of the season, 
 and later on, I will get you an invitation to some great lady's 
 house, where you will meet the Prince of Wales privately at 
 dinner. If you can oblige or please His Royal Highness in 
 any way, so much the better for you, — he is at least the most 
 popular among royal personages, — so it should not be difficult 
 to you to make yourself agreeable. Following upon this event, 
 you must purchase a fine country seat, and have that fact * para- 
 graphed' — then you can rest and look round, — Society will 
 have taken you up, and you will find yourself in the swim." 
 
 I laughed heartily, — well entertained by his fluent discourse. 
 
 ** I should not," he resumed — '' propose your putting your- 
 self to the trouble of getting into Parliament. That is no 
 longer necessary to the career of a gentleman. But I should 
 strongly recommend your winning the Derby." 
 
 '' I daresay you would !" I answered mirthfully — '^ It's an 
 admirable suggestion, — but not very easy to follow !" 
 
 '' If you wish to win the Derby," he rejoined quietly — '' you 
 shall win it. I'll guarantee both horse and jockey." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 69 
 
 Something in his decisive tone impressed me, and I leaned 
 forward to study his features more closely. 
 
 *' Are you a worker of miracles !" I asked him jestingly — 
 *' Do you mean it?" 
 
 " Try me !" he responded — " Shall I enter a horse for you?" 
 
 "If it is not too late, and you like to do so" — I said—" I 
 leave it in your hands. But I must tell you frankly I don't 
 take much interest in racing matters. ' ' 
 
 ''You will have to amend your taste then" — he replied — 
 "That is if you want to make yourself agreeable to the Eng- 
 lish aristocracy, for they are interested in little else. No 
 really great lady is without her betting book, though she may 
 be deficient in her knowledge of spelling. You may make 
 the biggest literary /z/r^rt- of the season, and that will count 
 as nothing among * swagger' people, but if you win the Derby 
 you will be a really famous man. Personally speaking I have 
 a great deal to do with racing, — in fact I am devoted to it. 
 I am always present at every great race, — I never miss one ; 
 I always bet, and I never lose ! And now let me proceed 
 with your social plan of action. After winning the Derby 
 you will enter for a yacht race at Cowes, and allow the Prince 
 of Wales to beat you just narrowly. Then you will give a 
 grand dinner, arranged by a perfect chef, — and you will enter- 
 tain His Royal Highness to the strains of ' Britannia rules the 
 waves,' which will serve as a pretty compliment. You will 
 allude to the same well-worn song in a graceful speech, — and 
 the probable result of all this will be one, or perhaps two 
 Royal invitations. So far, so good. With the heats of 
 summer you will go to Homburg to drink the waters there 
 whether you require them or not, — and in the autumn you 
 will assemble a shooting-party at the country seat before- 
 mentioned, which you will have purchased, and invite Roy- 
 alty to join you in killing the poor little partridges. Then 
 your name in society may be considered as made, and you 
 can marry whatever fair lady happens to be in the market !" 
 
 "Thanks! — much obliged!" and I gave way to hearty 
 
70 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 laughter — " Upon my word Lucio, your programme is per- 
 fect ! It lacks nothing !" 
 
 '*It is the orthodox round of social success," said Lucio 
 with admirable gravity — *' Intellect and originality have 
 nothing whatever to do with it, — only money is needed to 
 perform it all." 
 
 "You forget my book" — I interposed — "I know there is 
 some intellect in that, and some originality too. Surely that 
 will give me an extra lift up the heights of fashionable light 
 and leading." 
 
 '' I doubt it !" — he answered — '' I very much doubt it. It 
 will be received with a certain amount of favour of course, as 
 the production of a rich man amusing himself with litera- 
 ture by way of whim. But, as I told you before, genius 
 seldom develops itself under the influence of wealth. Then 
 again ' swagger' folks can never get it out of their fuddled 
 heads that Literature belongs to Grub Street. Great poets, 
 great philosophers, great romancists are always vaguely 
 alluded to by 'swagger' society as 'those sort of people.' 
 Those sort of people are so ' interesting' say the blue- 
 blooded noodles deprecatingly, excusing themselves as it 
 w^ere for knowing any members of the class literary. You 
 can fancy a ' swagger' lady of Elizabeth's time asking a 
 friend — ' O do you mind, my dear, if I bring one Master 
 William Shakespeare to see you? He writes plays, and 
 does something or other at the Globe theatre, — in fact I'm 
 afraid he acts a little — he's not very well off poor man, — 
 but those so7't of people are always so amusing!' Now you, 
 my dear Tempest, are not a Shakespeare, but your millions 
 will give you a better chance than he ever had in his life- 
 time, as you will not have to sue for patronage, or practise a 
 reverence for 'my lord' or 'my lady,' — these exalted person- 
 ages will be only too delighted to borrow money of you if 
 you will lend it, ' ' 
 
 " I shall not lend,"— I said. 
 
 "Nor give?" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 71 
 
 *' Nor give." 
 
 His keen eyes flashed approval. 
 
 " I am very glad" he observed — " that you are determined 
 not to ' go about doing good' as the canting humbugs say, with 
 your money. You are wise. Spend on yourself, — because 
 your very act of spending cannot but benefit others through 
 various channels. Now I pursue a diff'erent course. I always 
 help charities, and put my name on subscription-lists, — and I 
 never fail to assist the clergy. ' ' 
 
 "I rather wonder at that" — I remarked — " Especially as 
 you tell me you are not a Christian." 
 
 ''Yes, — it does seem strange, — doesn't it?" — he said with 
 an extraordinary accent of what might be termed apologetic 
 derision — ''But perhaps you don't look at it in the proper 
 light. The clergy are doing their utmost best to destroy 
 religion, — by cant, by hypocrisy, by sensuality, by shams of 
 every description, — and when they seek my help in this 
 noble work, I give it, — freely !" 
 
 I laughed. " You must have your joke evidently" — I said, 
 throwing the end of my finished cigar into the fire — "And 
 I see you are fond of satirizing your own good actions. 
 Hullo, what's this?" 
 
 For at that moment Amiel entered, bearing a telegram for 
 me on a silver salver. I opened it, — it was from my friend 
 the publisher, and ran as follows — 
 
 "Accept book with pleasure. Send manuscript immedi- 
 ately." 
 
 I showed this to Rimanez with a kind of triumph. He 
 smiled. 
 
 "Of course! what else did you expect? Only the man 
 should have worded his telegram differently, for I do not 
 suppose he would accept the book with pleasure if he had 
 to lay out his own cash upon it. ' Accept money for 
 publishing book with pleasure' should have been the 
 true message of the wire. Well, what are you going to 
 do?" 
 
72 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ''I shall see about this at once" — I answered, feeling 
 a thrill of satisfaction that at last the time of vengeance 
 on certain of my enemies was approaching — "The book 
 must be hurried through the press as quickly as possible, — 
 and I shall take a particular pleasure in personally attend- 
 ing to all the details concerning it. For the rest of my 
 plans ' ' 
 
 ''Leave them to me!" said Rimanez laying his finely 
 shaped white hand with a masterful pressure on my shoulder ; 
 ''Leave them to me! — and be sure that before very long I 
 shall have set you aloft like the bear who has successfully 
 reached the bun on the top of a greased pole, — -a spectacle 
 for the envy of men, and the wonder of angels ! ' ' 
 
 VII 
 
 The next three or four weeks flew by in a whirl of excite- 
 ment, and by the time they were ended, I found it hard to 
 recognize myself in the indolent, listless, extravagant man of 
 fashion I had so suddenly become. Sometimes at stray and 
 solitary moments the past turned back upon me like a revolving 
 picture in a glass with a flash of unwelcome recollection, and 
 I saw myself worn and hungry, and shabbily clothed, bending 
 over my writing in my dreary lodging, wretched, yet amid 
 all my wretchedness receiving curious comfort from my own 
 thoughts, which created beauty out of penury, and love out 
 of loneliness. This creative faculty was now dormant in me, 
 — I did very little and thought less. But I felt certain that 
 this intellectual apathy was but a passing phase, — a mental 
 holiday and desirable cessation from brain-work to which I 
 was deservedly entitled after all my sufferings at the hands 
 of poverty and disappointment. My book was nearly through 
 the press, — and perhaps the chiefest pleasure of any I now 
 enjoyed was the correction of the proofs as they passed under 
 my supervision. Yet even this, the satisfaction of authorship. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 73 
 
 had its drawback, — and my particular grievance was some- 
 what singular. I read my own work with gratification of 
 course, for I was not behind my contemporaries in thinking well 
 of myself in all I did, — but my complacent literary egoism was 
 mixed with a good deal of disagreeable astonishment and in- 
 credulity, because my work, written with enthusiasm and feel- 
 ing, propounded sentiments and inculcated theories which I 
 personally did not believe in. Now, how had this happened, I 
 asked myself? Why had I thus invited the public to accept me 
 at a false valuation ? I paused to consider, — and I found the 
 suggestion puzzling. How came I to write the book at all, 
 seeing that it was utterly unlike me as I now knew myself? 
 My pen, consciously or unconsciously, had written down 
 things which my reasoning faculties entirely repudiated, — 
 such as belief in a God, — trust in the eternal possibilities of 
 man's diviner progress, — I credited neither of these doctrines. 
 When I imagined such transcendental and foolish dreams I 
 was poor, — starving,— and without a friend in the world; — 
 remembering all this, I promptly set down my so-called ' inspi- 
 ration' to the action of an ill-nourished brain. Yet there was 
 something subtle in the teaching of the story ; and one after- 
 noon when I was revising some of the last proof sheets I 
 caught myself thinking that the book was nobler than its 
 writer. This idea smote me with a sudden pang, — I pushed 
 my papers aside, and walking to the window, looked out. It 
 was raining hard, and the streets were black with mud and 
 slush, — the foot-passengers were drenched and miserable, — 
 the whole prospect was dreary, and the fact that I was a rich 
 man did not in the least lift from my mind the depression that 
 had stolen on me unawares. I was quite alone, for I had my 
 own suite of rooms now in the hotel, not far from those occu- 
 pied by Prince Rimanez ; I also had my own servant, a respect- 
 able, good sort of fellow whom I rather liked because he 
 shared to the full the instinctive aversion I felt for the prince's 
 man, Amiel. Then I had my own carriage and horses with 
 attendant coachman and groom, — so that the prince and I, 
 D 7 
 
74 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 though the most intimate friends in the world, were able to 
 avoid that ' familiarity which breeds contempt' by keeping up 
 our own separate establishments. On this particular afternoon 
 I was in a more miserable humour than ever my poverty had 
 brought upon me, yet from a strictly reasonable point of view 
 I had nothing to be miserable about. I was in full possession 
 of my fortune, — I enjoyed excellent health, and I had every- 
 thing I wanted, with the added consciousness that if my wants 
 increased I could gratify them easily. The ' paragraph wheel' 
 under Lucio's management had been worked with such good 
 effect that I had seen myself mentioned in almost every paper 
 in London and the provinces, as the 'famous millionaire,' — 
 and for the benefit of the public, who are sadly uninstructed 
 on these matters, I may here state as a very plain unvarnished 
 truth, that for forty pounds,* a well-known * agency' will 
 guarantee the insertion of any paragraph, provided it is not 
 libellous, in no less than four hundred newspapers. The art 
 of ' booming' is thus easily explained, and level-headed people 
 will be able to comprehend why it is that a few names of 
 authors are constantly mentioned in the press, while others, 
 perhaps more deserving, remain ignored. Merit counts as 
 nothing in such circumstances, — money wins the day. And 
 the persistent paragraphing of my name, together with a 
 description of my personal appearance and my * marvellous 
 literary gifts,' combined with a deferential and almost awe- 
 struck allusion to the ' millions' which made me so interesting 
 — (the paragraph was written out by Lucio and handed for 
 circulation to the 'agency' aforesaid with 'money down') — 
 all this I say brought upon me two inflictions, — first, any 
 amount of invitations to social and artistic functions, — and 
 secondly, a continuous stream of begging-letters. I was com- 
 pelled to employ a secretary, who occupied a room near my 
 suite, and was kept hard at work all day. Needless to say I 
 refused all appeals for money ; — no one had helped 7ne in my 
 
 * A fact. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 75 
 
 distress, with the exception of my old chum ' Boffles,' — no one 
 save he had given me even so much as a word of sympathy, — 
 I was resolved now to be as hard and as merciless as I had 
 found my contemporaries. I had a certain grim pleasure in 
 reading letters from two or three literary men, asking for work 
 *as secretary or companion,' or failing that, for the loan of a 
 little cash to ' tide over present difficulties.' One of these 
 applicants was a journalist on the staff of a well-known paper 
 who had promised to find vie work, and who instead of doing 
 so, had as I afterwards learned, strongly dissuaded his editor 
 from giving me any employment. He never imagined that 
 Tempest the millionaire, and Tempest the literary hack, were 
 one and the same person, — so little do the majority think that 
 wealth can ever fall to the lot of authors ! I wrote to him 
 myself however, and told him what I deemed it well he should 
 know, adding my sarcastic thanks for his friendly assistance 
 to m^ in time of need, — and herein I tasted something of the 
 sharp delight of vengeance. I never heard from him again, 
 and I am pretty sure my letter gave him material not only for 
 astonishment but meditation. 
 
 Yet with all the advantages over both friends and enemies 
 which I now possessed, I could not honestly say I was happy. 
 I knew I could have every possible enjoyment and amuse- 
 ment the world had to offer, — I knew I was one of the most 
 envied among men, and yet, — as I stood looking out of the 
 window at the persistently falling rain, I was conscious of a 
 bitterness rather than a sweetness in the full cup of fortune. 
 Many things that I had imagined would give me intense satis- 
 faction had fallen curiously flat. For example, I had flooded 
 the press with the most carefully worded and prominent adver- 
 tisements of my forthcoming book, and when I was poor I 
 had pictured to myself how I should revel in doing this, — 
 now that it was done I cared nothing at all about it. I 
 was simply weary of the sight of my own advertized name. 
 I certainly did look forward with very genuine feeling 
 and expectation to the publication of my work when that 
 
76 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 should be an accomplished fact, — but to-day even that idea 
 had lost some of its attractiveness owing to this new and un- 
 pleasant impression on my mind that the contents of that book 
 were as utterly the reverse of my own true thoughts as they 
 could well be. A fog began to darken down over the streets 
 in company with the rain, — and disgusted with the weather 
 and with myself, I turned away from the window and settled 
 into an arm-chair by the fire, poking the coal till it blazed, 
 and wondering what I should do to rid my mind of the 
 gloom that threatened to envelop it in as thick a canopy as 
 that of the London fog. A tap came at the door, and in an- 
 swer to my somewhat irritable '' Come in !" Rimanez entered. 
 
 ''What, all in the dark. Tempest !" — he exclaimed cheer- 
 fully — " Why don't you light up?" 
 
 ''The fire's enough" — I answered crossly — "Enough at 
 any rate to think by." 
 
 "And have you been thinking?" he inquired laughing — 
 " Don't do it. It's a bad habit. No one thinks now-a-days, 
 — people can't stand it, — their heads are too frail. Once 
 begin to think, and down go the foundations of society, — 
 besides thinking is always dull work." 
 
 "I have found it so," I said gloomily — " Lucio, there is 
 something wrong about me somewhere." 
 
 His eyes flashed keen, half-amused inquiry into mine. 
 
 " Wrong? Oh no, surely not? What can there be wrong 
 about you, Tempest? Are you not one of the richest men 
 living?" 
 
 I let the satire pass. 
 
 " Listen, my friend," I said earnestly — " You know I have 
 been busy for the last fortnight correcting the proofs of my 
 book for the press, — do you not?" 
 
 He nodded with a smiling air. 
 
 " Well I have arrived almost at the end of my work and I 
 have come to the conclusion that the book is not Me, — it is 
 not a reflex of my feelings at all, — and I cannot understand 
 how I came to write it." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 77 
 
 "You find it stupid perhaps?" said Lucio sympathetically. 
 
 *' No," I answered with a touch of indignation — " I do not 
 find it stupid." 
 
 "Dull then?" 
 
 "No,— it is not dull." 
 
 " Melodramatic ?" 
 
 "No, — not melodramatic." 
 
 " Well, my good fellow, if it is not dull or stupid or melo- 
 dramatic, what is it?" he exclaimed merrily — "It must be 
 something !" 
 
 "Yes, — it is this, — it is beyond me altogether." And I 
 spoke with some bitterness. "Quite beyond me. I could 
 not write it now, — I wonder I could wTite it then. Lucio, I 
 daresay I am talking foolishly, — but it seems to me I must 
 have been on some higher altitude of thought when I wrote 
 the book, — a height from which I have since fallen." 
 
 "I'm sorry to hear this," he answered with twinkling eyes 
 — " From what you say it appears to me you have been guilty 
 of literary sublimity. Oh bad, very bad ! Nothing can be 
 worse. To write sublimely is a grievous sin, and one which 
 critics never forgive. I'm really grieved for you, my friend 
 — I never thought your case was quite so desperate. ' ' 
 . I laughed in spite of my depression. 
 
 " You are incorrigible, Lucio !" I said — "But your cheer- 
 fulness is very inspiriting. All I w^anted to explain to you is 
 this, — that my book expresses a certain tone of thought which 
 purporting to be inine^ is not me, — in short, I in my present 
 self have no sympathy with it. I must have changed very 
 much since I wrote it. ' ' 
 
 "Changed? Why yes, I should think so!" and Lucio 
 laughed heartily — "The possession of five millions is bound 
 to change a man considerably for the better — or worse ! But 
 you seem to be worrying yourself most absurdly about nothing. 
 Not one author in many centuries writes from his own heart 
 or as he truly feels — when he does, he becomes well-nigh 
 immortal. This planet is too limited to hold more than one 
 
 7* 
 
78 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 Homer, one Plato, one Shakespeare. Don't distress yourself — 
 you are neither of these three ! You belong to the age, Tem- 
 pest, — it is a decadent ephemeral age, and most things con- 
 nected with it are decadent and ephemeral. Any era that is 
 dominated by the love of money only, has a rotten core within 
 it and must perish. All history tells us so, but no one accepts 
 the lesson of history. Observe the signs of the time, — Art is 
 made subservient to the love of money — literature, politics and 
 religion the same,— jw^ cannot escape from the general disease. 
 The only thing to do is to make the best of it,- — no one can 
 reform it — least of all you, who have so much of the lucre 
 given to your share." 
 
 He paused, — I was silent, watching the bright fire-glow and 
 the dropping red cinders. 
 
 *' What I am going to say now," he proceeded in soft, al- 
 most melancholy accents — "will sound ridiculously trite, — 
 still it has the perverse prosiness of truth about it. It is this 
 — in order to write with intense feelings, you must first feel. 
 Very likely when you wrote this book of yours, you were al- 
 most a human hedge-hog in the way of feeling. Every prickly 
 point of you was erect and responsive to the touch of all influ- 
 ences, pleasant or the reverse, imaginative or realistic. This 
 is a condition which some people envy, and others would 
 rather dispense with. Now that you, as a hedge-hog, have no 
 further need for either alarm, indignation or self-defence, 
 your prickles are soothed into an agreeable passiveness, and 
 you partially cease to feel. That is all. The ' change' you 
 complain of is thus accounted for ; — you have nothing to feel 
 about, — hence you cannot comprehend how it was that you 
 ever felt. ' ' 
 
 I was conscious of irritation at the calm conviction of his 
 tone. 
 
 " Do you take me for such a callous creature as all that?" 
 I exclaimed — "You are mistaken in me, Lucio. I feel most 
 keenly " 
 
 "What do you feel?" he inquired, fixing his eyes steadily 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 79 
 
 upon me — ''There are hundreds of starving wretches in this 
 metropolis, — men and women on the brink of suicide because 
 they have no hope of anything in this world or the next, and 
 no sympathy from their kind — do you feel for them? Do 
 their griefs affect you ? You know they do not, — you know 
 you never think of them, — why should you? One pf the 
 chief advantages of wealth is the ability it gives us to shut out 
 other people's miseries from our personal consideration." 
 
 I said nothing, — for the first time my spirit chafed at the 
 truth of his words, principally because they were true. Alas, 
 Lucio ! — if I had only known then what I know now ! 
 
 "■ Yesterday," he went on in the same quiet voice — '' a child 
 was run over here, just opposite this hotel. It was only 
 a poor child, — mark that 'only.' Its mother ran shrieking 
 out of some back-street hard by, in time to see the little 
 bleeding body carted up in a mangled heap. She struck 
 wildly with both hands at the men who were trying to lead 
 her away, and with a cry like that of some hurt savage animal 
 fell face forward in the mud — dead. She was only a poor 
 woman, — another ' only.' There were three lines in the paper 
 about it headed ' Sad Incident. ' The hotel porter here wit- 
 nessed the scene from the door with as composed a demeanor as 
 that of a fop at the play, never relaxing the serene majesty of 
 his attitude, — but about ten minutes after the dead body of the 
 woman had been carried out of sight, he, the imperial, gold- 
 buttoned being, became almost crook-backed in his servile 
 haste to run and open the door of your brougham, my dear 
 Geoffrey, as. you drove up to the entrance. This is a little 
 epitome of life as it is lived now-a days, — and yet the canting 
 clerics swear we are all equal in the sight of heaven ! We 
 may be, though it does not look much like it, — and if we are, 
 it does not matter, as we have ceased to care how heaven re- 
 gards us. I don't want to point a moral, — I simply tell you 
 the ' sad incident' as it occurred, — and I am sure you are not 
 the least sorry for the fate of either the child who was run 
 over, or its mother who died in the sharp agony of a suddenly 
 
8o TPIE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 broken heart. Now don't say you are, because I know you're 
 not!" 
 
 " How can one feel sorry for people one does not know or 
 has never seen — " I began. 
 
 " Exactly ! — How is it possible? And there we have it — 
 how can one feel, when one's self is so thoroughly comfort- 
 able as to be without any other feeling save that of material 
 ease ? Thus, my dear Geoffrey, you must be content to let 
 your book appear as the reflex and record of your past when 
 you were in the prickly or sensitive stage, — now you are 
 encased in a pachydermatous covering of gold which ade- 
 quately protects you from such influences as might have made 
 you start and writhe, perhaps even roar with indignation, and 
 in the access of fierce torture, stretch out your hands and grasp 
 — quite unconsciously — the winged thing called Fame." 
 
 ''You should have been an orator" — I said, rising and 
 pacing the room to and fro in vexation, — ''But to me your 
 words are not consoling, and I do not think they are true. 
 Fame is easily enough secured." 
 
 " Pardon me if I am obstinate ;" — said Lucio with a depre- 
 catory gesture — " Notoriety is easily secured — very easily. A 
 few critics who have dined with you and had their fill of wine, 
 will give you notoriety. But fame is the voice of the whole 
 civilized public of the world." 
 
 "The public!" I echoed contemptuously — "The public 
 only care for trash. ' ' 
 
 " It is a pity you should appeal to it then" — he responded 
 with a smile — " If you think so little of the public why give 
 it anything of your brain ? It is not worthy of so rare a boon ! 
 Come, come, Tempest, — do not join in the snarl of unsuccessful 
 authors who take refuge, when marked unsalable, in pouring 
 out abuse on the public. The public is the author's best friend 
 and truest critic. But if you prefer to despise it in company 
 with all the very little literature-mongers who form a mutual 
 admiration society, I tell you what to do, — print just twenty 
 copies of your book and present these to the leading review- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 8i 
 
 ers, and when they have written you up (as they will do — I'll 
 take care of that) let your publisher advertise to the effect 
 that the ' First and Second Large Editions' of the new novel 
 by Geoffrey Tempest, are exhausted, one hundred thousand 
 copies having been sold in a week. If that does not waken 
 up the world in general, I shall be much surprised." 
 
 I laughed, — I was gradually getting into a better humour. 
 
 *' It would be quite as fair a plan of action as is adopted by 
 many modern publishers," I said — ''The loud hawking of lit- 
 erary wares now-a-days reminds me of the rival shouting of 
 costermongers in a low neighbourhood. But I will not go 
 quite so far, — I'll win my fame legitimately if I can." 
 
 "You can't!" declared Lucio with a serene smile — ''It's 
 impossible. You are too rich. That of itself is not legitimate 
 in Literature, — which great art generally elects to wear poverty 
 in its button-hole as a flower of grace. The fight cannot be 
 equal in such circumstances. The fact that you are a million- 
 aire must weigh the balance apparently in your favour for a 
 time. The world cannot resist money. If I, for example, 
 became an author, I should probably with my wealth and in- 
 fluence, burn up every one else's laurels. Suppose that a des- 
 perately poor man comes out with a book at the same time as 
 you do, he will have scarcely the ghost of a chance against 
 you. He will not be able to advertise in your lavish style, — 
 nor will he see his way to dine the critics as you can. And 
 if he should happen to have more genius than you, and you 
 succeed, your success will no^ be legitimate. But after all, 
 that does not matter much — in Art, if in nothing else, things 
 always right themselves. ' ' 
 
 I made no immediate reply, but went over to my table, rolled 
 up my corrected proofs and directed them to the printers, — 
 then ringing the bell I gave the packet to my man, Morris, 
 bidding him post it at once. This done, I turned again 
 towards Lucio and saw that he still sat by the fire, but that his 
 attitude was now one of brooding melancholy, and that he had 
 covered his eyes with one hand on which the glow from the 
 / 
 
82 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 flames shone red. I regretted the momentary irritation I had 
 felt against him for telling me unwelcome truths, — and I 
 touched him lightly on the shoulder. 
 
 ^' Art you in the dumps now, Lucio?" I said — '' I'm afraid 
 my depression has proved infectious." 
 
 He moved his hand and looked up, — his eyes were large and 
 lustrous as the eyes of a beautiful woman. 
 
 *' I was thinking" he said, with a slight sigh — " of the last 
 words I uttered just now, — things always right the?nselves. 
 Curiously enough in art they always do, — no charlatanism or 
 sham lasts with the gods of Parnassus. But in other matters 
 it is different. For instance /shall never right myself ! Life 
 is hateful to me at times, as it is to everybody." 
 
 " Perhaps you are in love?" I said with a smile. 
 
 He started up. 
 
 *' In love ! By all the heavens and all the earths too, that 
 suggestion wakes me with a vengeance ! In love ! What 
 woman alive do you think could impress me with the notion 
 that she was anything more than a frivolous doll of pink and 
 white with long hair frequently not her own ? And as for the 
 tom-boy tennis-players and giantesses of the era, I do not 
 consider them women at all, — they are merely the unnatural 
 embryos of a new sex which will be neither male nor female. 
 My dear Tempest, I hate women. So would you if you knew 
 as much about them as I do. They have made me what I am, 
 and they keep me so. ' ' 
 
 '' They are to be much complimented then," — I observed — 
 '' You do them credit !" 
 
 ''I do !" he answered slowly — " In more ways than one !" 
 A faint smile was on his face, and his eyes brightened with 
 that curious jewel-like gleam I had noticed several times be- 
 fore. ^'^ Believe me I shall never contest with you such a 
 slight gift as woman's love, Geoffrey. It is not worth fight- 
 ing for. And apropos of women, that reminds me, — I have 
 promised to take you to the Earl of Elton's box at the Hay- 
 market to-night, — he is a poor peer, very gouty and somewhat 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 83 
 
 heavily flavoured with port-wine, but his daughter, Lady Sibyl, 
 is one of the belles of England. She was presented last season 
 and created quite ^fufore. Will you come?" 
 
 "I am quite at your disposition" — I said, glad of any ex- 
 cuse to escape the dullness of my own company and to be in 
 that of Lucio, whose talk, even if its satire galled me occa- 
 sionally, always fascinated my mind and remained in my 
 memory — '' What time shall we meet ?" 
 
 ^' Go and dress now, and join me at dinner" — he answered ; 
 "And we'll drive together to the theatre afterwards. The 
 play is on the usual theme which has lately become popular 
 with stage-managers, — the glorification of a ' fallen' lady, 
 and the exhibition of her as an example of something super- 
 latively pure and good, to the astonished eyes of the inno- 
 cent. As a play it is not worth seeing, — but perhaps Lady 
 Sibyl is." 
 
 He smiled again as he stood facing me, — the light flames of 
 the fire had died down to a dull uniform coppery red, — we 
 were almost in darkness, and I pressed the small button near 
 the mantelpiece that flooded the room with electric light. 
 His extraordinary beauty then struck me afresh as something 
 altogether singular and half unearthly. 
 
 " Don't you find that people look at you very often as you 
 pass, Lucio?" I asked him suddenly and impulsively. 
 
 He laughed. *' Not at all. Why should they? Every 
 man is so intent on his own aims, and thinks so much of his 
 own personality that he would scarcely forget his ego if the 
 very devil himself were behind him. Women look at me 
 sometimes, with the affected coy and kitten-like interest 
 usually exhibited by the frail sex for a personable man." 
 
 '' I cannot blame them !" I answered, my gaze still resting 
 on his stately figure and fine head with as much admiration 
 as I might have felt for a noble picture or statue — " What of 
 this Lady Sibyl we are to meet to-night, — how does she 
 regard you ?' ' 
 
 ''Lady Sibyl has never seen me" — he replied — ''And I 
 
84 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 have only seen her at a distance. It is chiefly for the purpose 
 of an introduction to her that the Earl has asked us to his box 
 this evening." 
 
 *' Ha ha ! Matrimony in view !" I exclaimed jestingly. 
 
 ^' Yes — I believe Lady Sibyl is for sale' ' — he answered with 
 the callous coldness that occasionally distinguished him and 
 made his handsome features look like an impenetrable mask of 
 scorn — ''But up to the present the bids have not been suffi- 
 ciently high. And I shall not purchase. I have told you 
 already, Tempest, I hate women." 
 
 " Seriously?" 
 
 '' Most seriously. Women have always done me harm, — 
 they have wantonly hindered me in my progress. And why 
 I specially abominate them is, that they have been gifted with 
 an enormous power for doing good, and that they let this 
 power run to waste and will not use it. Their deliberate en- 
 joyment and choice of the repulsive, vulgar and common- 
 place side of life disgusts me. They are much less sensitive 
 than men, and infinitely more heartless. They are the mothers 
 of the human race, and the faults of the race are chiefly due 
 to them. That is another reason for my hatred." 
 
 ''Do you want the human race to be perfect?" I asked 
 astonished — " Because, if you do, you will find that impos- 
 sible." 
 
 He stood for a moment apparently lost in thought. 
 
 " Everything in the Universe is perfect" — he said, " except 
 that curious piece of work — Man. Have you never thought 
 out any reasons why he should be the one flaw, — the one in- 
 complete creature in a matchless Creation ?' ' 
 
 "No, I have not" — I replied — "I take things as I find 
 them. ' ' 
 
 " So do I"— and he turned away, "And as I find f/iem, so 
 they find me/ Au revoir ! Dinner in an hour's time re- 
 member !" 
 
 The door opened and closed — he was gone. I remained 
 alone for a little, thinking what a strange disposition was his, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 85 
 
 — what a curious mixture of philosophy, worldliness, senti- 
 ment and satire seemed to run like the veins of a leaf through 
 the variable temperament of this brilliant, semi-mysterious 
 personage who had by mere chance become my greatest friend. 
 We had now been more or less together for nearly a month, 
 and I was no closer to the secret of his actual nature than I 
 had been at first. Yet I admired him more than ever, — with- 
 out his society I felt life would be deprived of half its charm. 
 For though, attracted as human moths will be by the glare of 
 my glittering millions, numbers of so-called ' friends' now 
 surrounded me, there was not one among them who so domi- 
 nated my every mood and with whom I had so much close 
 sympathy as this man, — this masterful, half cruel, half kind 
 companion of my days, who at times seemed to accept all life 
 as the veriest bagatelle, and myself as a part of the trivial 
 game. 
 
 VIII 
 
 No man, I think, ever forgets the first time he is brought face 
 to face with perfect beauty in woman. He may have caught 
 fleeting glimpses of loveliness on many fair faces often, — bright 
 eyes may have flashed on him like star-beams, — the hues of a 
 dazzling complexion may now and then have charmed him, 
 or the seductive outlines of a graceful figure ; — all these are as 
 mere peeps into the infinite. But when such vague and passing 
 impressions are suddenly drawn together in one focus, — when 
 all his dreamy fancies of form and colour take visible and com- 
 plete manifestation in one living creature who looks down 
 upon him as it were from an empyrean of untouched maiden 
 pride and purity, it is more to his honour than his shame, if 
 his senses swoon at the ravishing vision, and he, despite his 
 rough masculinity and brute strength, becomes nothing but 
 the merest slave to passion. In this way was I overwhelmed 
 and conquered without any chance of deliverance when Sybil 
 Elton's violet eyes, lifted slowly from the shadow of their 
 
 8 
 
86 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 dark lashes, rested upon me with that indefinable expres- 
 sion of mingled interest and indifference which is supposed 
 to indicate high breeding, but which more frequently intim- 
 idates and repulses the frank and sensitive soul. The Lady 
 Sibyl's glance repelled, but I was none the less attracted. 
 Rimanez and I had entered the Earl of Elton's box at the 
 Haymarket between the first and second acts of the play, 
 and the Earl himself, an unimpressive, bald-headed, red- 
 faced old gentleman, with fuzzy white whiskers, had risen 
 to welcome us, seizing Lucio's hand and shaking it with 
 particular effusiveness. (I learned afterwards that Lucio had 
 lent him a thousand pounds on easy terms, a fact which 
 partly accounted for the friendly fervour of his greeting.) 
 His- daughter had not moved ; but a minute or two later 
 when he addressed her somewhat sharply, saying " Sibyl ! 
 Prince Rimanez and his friend, Mr Geoffrey Tempest," she 
 turned her head and honoured us both with the chill glance 
 I have endeavoured to describe, and the very faintest possible 
 bow as an acknowledgment of our presence. Her exquisite 
 beauty smote me dumb and foolish, — I could find nothing to 
 say, and stood silent and confused, with a strange sensation of 
 bewilderment upon me. The old Earl made some remark 
 about the play which I scarcely heard though I answered 
 vaguely and at hap-hazard, — the orchestra was playing abomi- 
 nably as is usual in theatres, and its brazen din sounded like 
 the noise of the sea in my ears, — I had not much real con- 
 sciousness of anything save the wondrous loveliness of the 
 girl who faced me, clad in pure white, with a few diamonds 
 shining about her like stray dewdrops on a rose. Lucio spoke 
 to her, and I listened. 
 
 ''At last. Lady Sibyl," he said, bending towards her defer- 
 entially. '^At last I have the honour of meeting you. I 
 have seen you often, as one sees a star, — at a distance." 
 
 She smiled, — a smile so slight and cold that it scarcely 
 lifted the corners of her lovely lips. 
 
 ** I do not think I have ever seen you, ' ' she replied. ^' And 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 87 
 
 yet there is something oddly familiar in your face. I have 
 heard my father speak of you constantly, — I need scarcely 
 say his friends are always mine." 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 '' To merely speak to Lady Sibyl Elton is counted sufficient 
 to make the man so privileged happy," he said. '' To be her 
 friend is to discover the lost paradise. ' ' 
 
 She flushed, — then grew suddenly very pale, and shivering, 
 she drew her cloak towards her. Rimanez wrapped its per- 
 fumed silken folds carefully round her beautiful shoulders, — 
 how I grudged him the dainty task ! He then turned to me, 
 and placed a chair just behind hers. 
 
 ^* Will you sit here, Geoffrey?" he suggested — "I want to 
 have a moment's business chat with Lord Elton." 
 
 Recovering my self-possession a little, I hastened to take 
 the chance he thus generously gave me to ingratiate myself in 
 the young lady's favour, and my heart gave a foolish bound 
 of joy because she smiled encouragingly as I approached 
 her. 
 
 *' You are a great friend of Prince Rimanez?" she asked 
 softly, as I sat down. 
 
 "Yes, we are very intimate," I replied — " He is a delight- 
 ful companion." 
 
 " So I should imagine !" and she looked over at him where 
 he sat next to her father talking earnestly in low tones — " He 
 is singularly handsome." 
 
 I made no reply. Of course Lucio's extraordinary personal 
 attractiveness was undeniable, — but I rather grudged her 
 praise bestowed on him just then. Her remarks seemed to 
 me as tactless as when a man with one pretty woman beside 
 him loudly admires another in her hearing. I did not myself 
 assume to be actually handsome, but I knew I was better 
 looking than the ordinary run of men. So out of sudden 
 pique I remained silent, and presently the curtain rose and 
 the play was resumed. A very questionable scene was enacted, 
 the ' woman with the past' being well to the front of it. I felt 
 
88 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 disgusted at the performance and looked at my companions to 
 see if they too were similarly moved. There was no sign of 
 disapproval on Lady Sibyl's fair countenance, — her father was 
 bending forward eagerly, apparently gloating over every detail, 
 — Rimanez wore that inscrutable expression of his in which 
 no feeling whatever could be discerned. The ' Avoman with 
 the past' went on with her hysterical sham-heroics, and the 
 mealy-mouthed fool of a hero declared her to be a ' pure 
 angel wronged,' and the curtain fell amid loud applause. One 
 energetic hiss came from the gallery, affecting the occupants 
 of the stalls to scandalized amazement. 
 
 ''England has progressed!" said Rimanez in soft half- 
 bantering tones — "Once upon a time this play would have 
 been hooted off the stage as likely to corrupt the social com- 
 munity. But now the only voice of protest comes from the 
 ' lower' classes. ' ' 
 
 '* Are you a democrat, prince ?" inquired Lady Sibyl, waving 
 her fan indolently to and fro. 
 
 ''Not I ! I always insist on the pride and supremacy of 
 worth, — I do not mean money value, but intellect. And in 
 this way I foresee a new aristocracy. When the High grows 
 corrupt, it falls and becomes the Low; — when the Low edu- 
 cates itself and aspires, it becomes the High. This is simply 
 the course of nature." 
 
 '*But God bless my soul !" exclaimed Lord Elton — "you 
 don't call this play low or immoral, do you ?" It's a realistic 
 study of modern social life — that's what it is. These women 
 you know, — these poor souls v/ith a past — are very in- 
 teresting." 
 
 " Very !" murmured his daughter. — " In fact it would seem 
 that for women with no such ' past' there can be no future. 
 Virtue and modesty are quite out of date, and have no chance 
 whatever. ' ' 
 
 I leaned towards her, half whispering — 
 
 " Lady Sibyl, I am glad to see this wretched play oifends 
 you. ' ' 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 89 
 
 She turned her deep eyes on me in mingled surprise and 
 amusement. 
 
 " Oh no, it doesn't," she declared — '* I have seen so many- 
 like it. And I have read so many novels on just the same 
 theme. I assure you I am quite convinced that the so-called 
 ' bad' woman is the only popular type of our sex with men, 
 — she gets all the enjoyment possible out of life, — she fre- 
 quently makes an excellent marriage, and has, as the Amer- 
 icans say, 'a. good time all round.' It's the same thing with 
 our convicted criminals, — in prison they are much better 
 fed than the honest working-man. I believe it is quite a 
 mistake for a woman to be respectable, — they are only con- 
 sidered dull." 
 
 ''Ah now you are only joking !" I said with an indulgent 
 smile. " You know that in your heart you think very differ- 
 ently." 
 
 She made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again, 
 disclosing the unclean ' lady' of the piece, '' having a good time 
 all round" on board a luxurious yacht. During the unnatural 
 and stilted dialogue which followed, I withdrew a little back 
 into the shadow of the box, and all that self-esteem and as- 
 surance of which I had been suddenly deprived by a glance 
 at Lady Sibyl's beauty, came back to me, and a perfectly 
 stolid coolness and composure succeeded to the first feverish 
 excitement of my mind. I recalled Lucio's words — '^ I be- 
 lieve Lady Sibyl is for sale"" — and I thought triumphantly of 
 my millions. I glanced at the old earl, abjectly pulling at 
 his white whiskers while he listened anxiously to what were 
 evidently money schemes propounded by Lucio. Then my 
 gaze came back appraisingly to the lovely curves of Lady 
 Sibyl's milk-white throat, her beautiful arms and bosom, her 
 rich brown hair of the shade of a ripe chestnut, her delicate 
 haughty face, languid eyes and brilliant complexion, — and I 
 murmured inwardly — '' All this loveliness is purchasable and 
 I will purchase it !" At that very instant she turned to me 
 and said — 
 
 8* 
 
90 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ''You are the famous Mr Tempest, are you not?" 
 
 ''Famous?" I echoed with a deep sense of gratification 
 — "Well, — I am scarcely that, — yet ! My book is not pub- 
 lished ..." 
 
 Her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly. 
 
 " Your book? I did not know you had written one !" 
 
 My flattered vanity sank to zero. 
 
 " It has been extensively advertised," I began impressively, 
 
 but she interrupted me with a laugh. 
 
 "Oh I never read advertisements, — it's too much trouble. 
 When I asked if you were the famous Mr Tempest, I meant to 
 say were you the great millionaire who has been so much talked 
 of lately?" 
 
 I bowed a somewhat chill assent. She looked at me in- 
 quisitively over the lace edge of her fan. 
 
 "How delightful it must be for you to have so much 
 money!" she said — "And you are young too, and good- 
 looking." 
 
 Pleasure took the place of vexed amour-propre and I 
 smiled. 
 
 " You are very kind, Lady Sibyl !" 
 
 "Why?" she asked laughing, — such a delicious little low 
 laugh — "Because I tell you the truth? You ^;r young and 
 you are good-looking. Millionaires are generally such appal- 
 ling creatures. Fortune while giving them money frequently 
 deprives them of both brains and personal attractiveness. And 
 now do tell me about your book !" 
 
 She seemed to have suddenly dispensed with her former 
 reserve, and during the last act of the play, we conversed 
 freely, in whispers which assisted us to become almost con- 
 fidential. Her manner to ine now was full of grace and 
 charm, and the fascination she exerted over my senses became 
 complete. The performance over, we all left the box together, 
 and as Lucio was still apparently engrossed with Lord Elton, 
 I had the satisfaction of escorting Lady Sibyl to her carriage. 
 When her father joined her, Lucio and I both stood together 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 91 
 
 looking in at the window of the brougham, and the Earl, 
 getting hold of my hand shook it up and down with boisterous 
 friendliness. 
 
 "Come and dine, — come and dine !" he spluttered excitedly, 
 — " Come — let me see, — this is Tuesday — come on Thursday. 
 Short notice and no ceremony ! My wife is paralyzed I'm 
 sorry to say, — she can't receive, — she can only see a few 
 people now and then when she is in the humour, — her sister 
 keeps house and does the honours, — Aunt Charlotte, eh 
 Sibyl? — ha-ha-ha ! The Deceased Wife's Sister's Bill would 
 never be any use to me, for if my wife were to die I shouldn't 
 be anxious to marry Miss Charlotte Fitzroy ! Ha ha ha ! A 
 perfectly unapproachable woman, sir ! — a model, — ha ha ! 
 Come and dine with us, Mr Tempest, — Lucio, you bring him 
 along with you, eh? We've got a young lady staying with 
 us, — an American, dollars, accent and all, — and by Jove I be- 
 lieve she wants to marry me, ha ha ha ! and is waiting for Lady 
 Elton to go to a better world first, ha ha ! Come along — come 
 and see the little American, eh ? Thursday shall it be ?' ' 
 
 Over the fair features of Lady Sibyl there passed a faint 
 shadow of annoyance at her father's allusion to the ''little 
 American," but she said nothing. Only her looks appeared 
 to question our intentions as well as to persuade our wills, 
 and she seemed satisfied when we both accepted the invita- 
 tion given. Another apoplectic chuckle from the Earl and a 
 couple of handshakes, — a slight graceful bow from her lovely 
 ladyship, as we raised our hats in farewell, and the Elton 
 equipage rolled away, leaving us to enter our own vehicle, 
 which amid the officious roarings of street-boys and police- 
 men had just managed to draw up in front of the theatre. As 
 we drove off, Lucio peered inquisitively at me — I could see 
 the steely glitter of his fine eyes in the semi-darkness of the 
 brougham, — and said — 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 "Don't you admire her?" he went on — "I must confess 
 
92 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 she is cold, — a very chilly vestal indeed, — but snow often 
 covers volcanoes ! She has good features and a naturally 
 clear complexion." 
 
 Despite my intention to be reticent, I could not endure this 
 tame description. 
 
 '' She is perfectly beautiful," — I said emphatically. '' The 
 dullest eyes must see that. There is not a fault to be found 
 with her. And she is wise to be reserved and cold — were 
 she too lavish of her smiles, and too seductive in manner she 
 might drive many men not only into folly, but madness." 
 
 I felt rather than saw the cat-like jewel glance he flashed 
 upon me. 
 
 ''Positively, Geoffrey, I believe, that notwithstanding the 
 fact that we are only in February, the wind blows upon you 
 due south, bringing with it odours of rose and orange-blossom ! 
 I fancy Lady Sibyl has powerfully impressed you?" 
 
 ^' Did you wish me to be impressed?" I asked. 
 
 *'I? My dear fellow, I wish nothing that you yourself do 
 not wish. I accommodate my ways to my friends' humours. 
 If asked for my opinion, I should say it is rather a pity if 
 you are really smitten with the young lady, as there are no 
 obstacles to be encountered. A love-affair, to be conducted 
 with spirit and enterprise should always bristle with opposi- 
 tion and difficulty, real or invented. A little secrecy and a 
 good deal of wrong-doing, such as sly assignations and the 
 telling of any amount of lies — such things add to the agree- 
 ableness of love-making on this planet — " 
 
 I interrupted him. 
 
 ''See here, Lucio, you are very fond of alluding to 'this' 
 planet as if you knew anything about other planets" — I said 
 impatiently. ^^This planet, as you somewhat contemptuously 
 call it, is the only one we have any business with." 
 
 He bent his piercing looks so ardently upon me that for the 
 moment I was startled. 
 
 "If that is so," he answered, "why in Heaven's name do 
 you not let the other planets alone ? Why do you strive to 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 93 
 
 fathom their mysteries and movements ? If men, as you say, 
 have no business with any planet save this one, why are they 
 ever on the alert to discover the secret of mightier worlds, — a 
 secret which haply it may some day terrify them to know !" 
 
 The solemnity of his voice and the inspired expression of 
 his face awed me. I had no reply ready, and he went on — 
 
 " Do not let us talk, my friend, of planets, not even of this 
 particular pin's point among them known as Earth. Let us 
 return to a better subject — the Lady Sibyl. As I have already 
 said, there are no obstacles in the way of your wooing and 
 winning her, if such is your desire. Geoffrey Tempest, as 
 mere author of books would indeed be insolent to aspire to 
 the hand of an earl's daughter, but Geoffrey Tempest, million- 
 aire, will be a welcome suitor. Poor Lord Elton's affairs are 
 in a bad way — he is almost out-at-elbows, the American woman 
 who is boarding with him " 
 
 ** Boarding with him !" I exclaimed — *' Surely he does not 
 keep a boarding-house ?' ' 
 
 Lucio laughed heartily. 
 
 ^'No, no ! — you must not put it so coarsely, Geoffrey. It 
 is simply this, that the Earl and Countess of Elton give the 
 prestige of their home and protection to Miss Diana Chesney 
 (the American aforesaid) for the trifling sum of two thousand 
 guineas per annum. The Countess being paralyzed, is 
 obliged to hand over her duties of chaperonage to her sister 
 Miss Charlotte Fitzroy, — but the halo of the coronet still 
 hovers over Miss Chesney' s brow. She has her own suite of 
 rooms in the house, and goes wherever it is proper for her to 
 go, under Miss Fitzroy' s care. Lady Sibyl does not like the 
 arrangement, and is therefore never seen anywhere except with 
 her father. She will not join in companionship with Miss 
 Chesney and has said so pretty plainly." 
 
 ''I admire her for it !" I said warmly — ^' I really am sur- 
 prised that Lord Elton should condescend " 
 
 '' Condescend to what?" inquired Lucio — '' Condescend to 
 take two thousand guineas a year? Good heavens man. 
 
94 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 there are no end of lords and ladies who will readily agree 
 to perform such an act of condescension. ' Blue' blood is 
 getting thin and poor, and only money can thicken it. 
 Diana Chesney is worth over a million dollars and if Lady 
 Elton were to die conveniently soon, I should not be surprised 
 to see that ' little American' step triumphantly into her vacant 
 place." 
 
 '* What a state of topsy-turveydom !" I said half angrily. 
 
 '' Geoffrey, my friend, you are really amazingly inconsistent ! 
 Is there a more flagrant example of topsy-turveydom than 
 yourself for instance ? Six weeks ago, what were you ? A 
 mere scribbler, with flutterings of the wings of genius in your 
 soul but many uncertainties as to whether those wings would 
 ever be strong enough to lift you out of the rut of obscurity 
 in which you floundered, struggling and grumbling at adverse 
 fate. Now, as millionaire, you think contemptuously of an 
 Earl, because he ventures quite legitimately to add a little to 
 his income by boarding an American heiress and launching 
 her into society where she would never get without him. 
 And you aspire, or probably mean to aspire to the hand of 
 the Earl's daughter, as if you yourself were a descendant of 
 kings. Nothing can be more topsy-turvey than your con- 
 dition?" 
 
 *' My father was a gentleman," I said with a touch of hau- 
 teur, '' and a descendant of gentlemen. We were never com- 
 mon folk, — our family was one of the most highly esteemed 
 in the counties." 
 
 Lucio smiled. 
 
 *' I do not doubt it, my dear fellow, — I do not in the least 
 doubt it. But a simple ' gentleman' is a long way below — or 
 above — an Earl. Have it which side you choose ! — because it 
 really doesn't matter now-a-days. We have come to a period 
 of history when rank and lineage count as nothing at all, owing 
 to the profoundly obtuse stupidity of those who happen to pos- 
 sess it. So it chances, that as no resistance is made, brewers 
 are created peers of the realm, and ordinary tradesmen are 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 95 
 
 knighted, and the very old families are so poor that they have 
 to sell their estates and jewels to the highest bidder, who is 
 frequently a vulgar ' railway-king' or the introducer of some 
 new manure. You occupy a better position than such, since 
 you inherit your money with the further satisfaction that you 
 do not know how it was made." 
 
 "True!" I answered meditatively, — then, with a sudden 
 flash of recollection I added — '^ By the way I never told you 
 that my deceased relative imagined that he had sold his soul 
 to the devil, and that this vast fortune of his was the material 
 result ! ' ' 
 
 Lucio burst into a violent fit of laughter. 
 
 *' No ! Not possible !" he exclaimed derisively — " What an 
 idea ! I suppose he had a screw loose somewhere ! Imagine 
 any sane man believing in a devil ! Ha, ha, ha ! And in 
 these advanced days too ! Well, well ! The folly of human 
 imaginations will never end ! Here we are !" — and he sprang 
 lightly out as the brougham stopped at the Grand Hotel — 
 *'Iwill say good-night to you, Tempest. I've promised to 
 go and have a gamble." 
 
 *' A gamble? where?" 
 
 *' At one of the select private clubs. There are any amount 
 of them in this eminently moral metropolis — no occasion to go 
 to Monte Carlo ! Will you come ?" ^ 
 
 I hesitated. The fair face of Lady Sibyl haunted my mind, 
 and I felt, with a no doubt foolish sentimentality, that I would 
 rather keep my thoughts of her sacred, and unpolluted by con- 
 tact with things of low^er tone. 
 
 "Not to-night" — I said, — then half smiling I added — "It 
 must be rather a one-sided affair for other men to gamble 
 with you, Lucio ! You can afford to lose, — and perhaps they 
 can't." 
 
 * ' If they can' t they shouldn' t play' ' — he answered — " A man 
 should at least know his own mind and his own capacity ; if 
 he doesn't he is no man at all. As far as I have learned by 
 long experience, those who gamble, like it, and when ^/ley like 
 
96 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 it /like it. I'll take you with me to-morrow if you care to 
 see the fun, — one or two very emiment men are members of 
 the club, though of course they wouldn't have it known for 
 worlds. You shan't lose much — I'll see to that." 
 
 ** All right, — to-morrow it shall be!" — I responded, fori 
 did not wish to appear as though I grudged losing a few 
 pounds at play — '* But to-night I think I'll write some letters 
 before going to bed." 
 
 ''Yes — and dream of Lady Sibyl !" said Lucio laughing — 
 '*If she fascinates you as much when you see her again on 
 Thursday you had better begin the siege !" 
 
 He waved his hand gaily, and re-entering his carriage, was 
 driven off at a furious pace through the drifting fog and rain. 
 
 IX 
 
 My publisher, John Morgeson — the estimable individual 
 who had first refused my book, and who now, moved by self- 
 interest, was devoting his energies assiduously to the business 
 of launching it in the most modern and approved style, was 
 not like Shakespeare's C^j-j-/^, strictly * an honourable man.' 
 Neither was he the respectable chief of a long-established firm 
 whose system of the cheating of authors, mellowed by time, 
 had become almost sacred ; — he was a ' new' man, with new 
 ways, and a good stock of new push and impudence. All the 
 same, he was clever, shrewd and diplomatic, and for some 
 reason or other, had secured the favour of a certain portion of 
 the press, many of the dailies and weeklies always giving spe- 
 cial prominence to his publications over the heads of other far 
 more legitimately dealing firms. He entered into a partial 
 explanation of his methods, when, on the morning after my 
 first meeting with the Earl of Elton and his daughter, I called 
 upon him to inquire how things were going with regard to my 
 book. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 97 
 
 "We shall publish next week," — he said, rubbing his 
 hands complacently, and addressing me with all the deference 
 due to my banking account — '* And as you don't mind what 
 you spend, I'll tell you just what I propose to do. I intend 
 to write out a mystifying paragraph of about some seventy lines 
 or so, describing the book in a vague sort of way as ' likely to 
 create a new era of thought' — or, ' ere long eve?'}' body who is 
 anybody will be compelled to read this remarkable work,' — or 
 *■ as something that must be welcome to all who would under- 
 stand the drift of one of^Jhe most delicate and burning questio?is 
 of the time. ' These are all stock phrases, used over and over 
 again by the reviewers, — there's no copyright in them. And 
 the last one always * tells' wonderfully, considering how old it 
 is and how often it has been made to do duty, because any 
 allusion to a ' delicate and burning question'' makes a number 
 of people think the novel must be improper, and they send for 
 it at once." 
 
 He chuckled at his own perspicuity, and I sat silent, study- 
 ing him with much inward amusement. This man on whose 
 decision I had humbly and anxiously waited not so many 
 weeks ago was now my paid tool, — ready to obey me to any 
 possible extent for so much cash, — and I listened to him in- 
 dulgently while he went on unravelling his schemes for the 
 gratification of my vanity, and the pocketing of his extras. 
 
 *' The book has been splendidly advertised" — he went on ; 
 " It could not have been more lavishly done. Orders do not 
 come in very fast yet — but they will, — they will. This para- 
 graph of mine, which will take the shape of a leaderette,' I 
 can get inserted in about eight hundred to a thousand news- 
 papers here and in America. It will cost you, — say a hundred 
 guineas — perhaps a trifle more. Do you mind that?" 
 
 *' Not in the least !" I replied, still vastly amused. 
 
 He meditated a moment, — then drew his chair closer to 
 mine and lowered his voice a little. 
 
 ''You understand I suppose, that I shall only issue two 
 hundred and fifty copies at first?" 
 T^ g 9 
 
98 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 This limited number seemed to me absurd and I protested 
 vehemently. 
 
 ^' Such an idea is ridiculous !" I said — '' you cannot supply 
 the trade with such a scanty edition." 
 
 '' Wait, my dear sir, wait, — you are too impatient. You do 
 not give me time to explain. All these two hundred and fifty 
 will he given aiuay by me in the proper quarters on the day of 
 publication, never mind how, — they must be given away — " 
 
 '^Why?" 
 
 *'Why?" and the worthy Morgeson laughed sweetly — ''I 
 see, my dear Mr Tempest, you are like most men of genius — 
 you do not understand business. The reason why we give the 
 first two hundred and fifty copies away is in order to be able 
 to announce at once in all the papers that ' The Fhst Large 
 Edition of the New Novel by Geoffrey Tempest being exhausted 
 on the day of publication, a Second is in Rapid Preparatiotiy 
 You see we thus hoodwink the public, who of course are not 
 in our secrets, and are not to know whether an edition is two 
 hundred or two thousand. The Second Edition will of course 
 be ready behind the scenes and will consist of another two 
 hundred and fifty." 
 
 *' Do you call that course of procedure honest?" I asked 
 quietly. 
 
 *' Honest ? My dear sir ! Honest ?' ' And his countenance 
 wore a virtuously injured expression — '^ Of course it is honest ! 
 Look at the daily papers ! Such announcements appear every 
 day — in fact they are getting rather too common. I freely 
 admit that there are a few publishers here and there who stick 
 up for exactitude and go to the trouble of not only giving the 
 number of copies in an Edition, but also publishing the date 
 of each one as it was issued, — this may be principle if they 
 like to call it so, but it involves a great deal of precise cal- 
 culation and worry ! If the public like to be deceived, what 
 is the use of being exact ! Now, to resume, — your second 
 edition will be sent off ' on sale or return' to provincial book- 
 sellers, and then we shall announce — ' In consequence of the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 99 
 
 Enormous Demand for the new novel by Geoffrey Tempest, the 
 Large Second Edition is out of print. A Third will be issued 
 in the course of next week.' And so on, and so on, till we 
 get to the sixth or seventh edition (always numbering two 
 hundred and fifty each) in three volumes ; perhaps we can by 
 skilful management work it up to a tenth. It is only a question 
 of diplomacy and a little dexterous humbugging of the trade. 
 Then we shall arrive at the one- volume issue which will require 
 different handling. But there's time enough for that. The 
 frequent advertisements will add to the expense a bit, but if 
 you don't mind — " 
 
 ''I don't mind anything," I said — '^so long as I have my 
 fun." 
 
 ^*Your fun?" he queried surprisedly — ''I thought it was 
 fame you wanted, more than fun !" 
 
 I laughed aloud. 
 
 ** I'm not such a fool as to suppose that fame is secured by 
 advertisement," I said — " For instance I am one of those who 
 think the fame of Millais as an artist was marred when he 
 degraded himself to the level of painting the little green boy 
 blowing bubbles of Pears' s Soap. That was an advertisement. 
 And that very incident in his career, trifling though it seem, 
 will prevent his ever standing on the same dignified height of 
 distinction with such masters in art as Romney, Sir Peter Lely, 
 Gainsborough or Reynolds." 
 
 " I believe there is a great deal of justice in what you say," — 
 and Morgeson shook his head wisely — ''Viewed from a 
 purely artistic and sentimental standpoint you are right." 
 And he became suddenly downcast and dubious. " Yes, — it 
 is a most extraordinary thing how fame does escape people 
 sometimes just when they seem on the point of grasping it. 
 They are ' boomed' in every imaginable way, and yet after 
 a time nothing will keep them up. And there are others 
 again who get kicked and buffeted and mocked and de- 
 rided " 
 
 '' Like Christ ?' ' I interposed with a half smile. He looked 
 
100 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 shocked, — he was a Non-conformist, — but remembering in 
 time how rich I was, he bowed with a meek patience. 
 
 ''Yes" — and he sighed — ''as you suggest, Mr Tempest, 
 like Christ. Mocked and derided and opposed at every turn, 
 — and yet by the queerest caprice of destiny, succeed in 
 winning a world-wide fame and power ' ' 
 
 ''Like Christ again !" I said mischievously, for I loved to 
 jar his non-conformist conscience. 
 
 *' Exactly!" He paused, looking piously down. Then 
 with a return of secular animation he added — " But I was not 
 thinking of the Great Example just then, Mr Tempest — I was 
 thinking of a woman." 
 
 " Indeed !" I said indifferently. 
 
 "Yes — a w^oman who despite continued abuse and opposi- 
 tion is rapidly becoming celebrated. You are sure to hear 
 of her in literary and social circles" — and he gave me a 
 furtive glance of doubtful inquiry — "but she is not rich you 
 know, — only famous. However, — we have nothing to do 
 with her just now — so let us return to business. The one 
 uncertain point in the matter of your book's success is the 
 attitude of the critics. There are only six leading men who 
 do the reviews, and between them they cover all the English 
 magazines and some of the American too, as well as the 
 London papers. Here are their names" — and he handed me 
 a pencilled memorandum, — " and their addresses as far as I 
 can ascertain them, or the addresses of the papers for which 
 they most frequently write. The man at the head of the list, 
 David McWhing, is the most formidable of the lot. He 
 writes everywhere about everything, — being a Scotchman he's 
 bound to have his finger in every pie. If you can secure 
 McWhing, you need not trouble so much about the others, as 
 he generally gives the 'lead,' and has his own way with the 
 editors. He is one of the ' personal friends' of the editor of 
 the Nineteenth Century for example, and you would be sure 
 to get a notice there, which would otherwise be impossible. 
 No reviewer can review anything for that magazine unless he 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN loi 
 
 is one of the editor's friends.^"^ You must msn.ags McWhin^,' 
 or he might, just for the sake of ' showing otf, ' cut you up 
 rather roughly. " .,•'"'..: 
 
 "That would not matter," I said, diverted at the idea of 
 ' managing McWhing,' — " A little slating always helps a book 
 to sell." 
 
 '' In some cases it does" — and Morgeson stroked his thin 
 beard perplexedly — " But in others it most emphatically does 
 not. Where there is any very decided or daring originality, 
 adverse criticism is always the most effective. But a work 
 like yours requires fostering with favour, — wants ' booming' 
 in short " 
 
 " I see !" and I felt distinctly annoyed — '' You don't think 
 my book original enough to stand alone ?' ' 
 
 ''My dear sir! — you are really — really — ! what shall I 
 say?" and he smiled apologetically — "a little brusque? I 
 think your book shows admirable scholarship and delicacy of 
 thought, — if I find fault with it at all, it is perhaps because I 
 am dense. The only thing it lacks in my opinion is what I 
 should call tenaciousness, for want of a better expression, — 
 the quality of holding the reader's fancy fixed like a nail. 
 But after all this is a common failing of modern literature, few 
 authors feel sufficiently themselves to make others feel." 
 
 I made no reply for a moment. I w^as thinking of Lucio's 
 remarks on this very same subject. 
 
 " Well !" I said at last—'' If I had no feeling when I wrote 
 the book I certainly have none now. Why man, I felt every 
 line of it ! — painfully and intensely !" 
 
 " Ay, ay indeed !" said Morgeson soothingly — " Or perhaps 
 you thought you felt, which is another very curious phase of 
 the literary temperament. You see, to convince people at 
 all, you must first yourself be convinced. The result of this 
 is generally a singular magnetic attraction between author 
 
 * The author has Mr Knovvles's own written authority for this ' log-roll- 
 ing' fact. 
 
102 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 and public. ' However I am a bad hand at argument, — and 
 it is possible that in hasty reading I may have gathered a 
 wrong' impression of your intentions. Anyhow the book 
 shall be a success if we can make it so. All I venture to ask 
 of you is that you should personally endeavour to manage 
 McWhing !" 
 
 I promised to do my best, and on this understanding we 
 parted. I realized that Morgeson was capable of greater dis- 
 cernment than I had imagined, and his observations had given 
 me material for thought which was not altogether agreeable. 
 For if my book as he said lacked tenacity, why then it would 
 not take root in the public mind, — it would be merely the 
 ephemeral success of a season, — one of those brief ' booms' in 
 literary wares for which I had such unmitigated contempt, — 
 and Fame would be as far off as ever, except that spurious im- 
 itation of it which the fact of my millions had secured. I 
 was in no good humour that afternoon, and Lucio saw it. He 
 soon elicited the sum and substance of my interview with 
 Morgeson, and laughed long and somewhat uproariously over 
 the proposed * managing' of the redoubtable McWhing. He 
 glanced at the five names of the other leading critics and 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Morgeson is quite right" — he said — ''McWhing is inti- 
 mate with the rest of these fellows— they meet at the same 
 clubs, dine at the same cheap restaurants and make love to the 
 same painted ballet-girls. All in a comfortable little fraternal 
 union together, and one obliges the other on their several 
 journals when occasion offers. Oh yes ! I should make up to 
 McWhing if I were you." 
 
 "But how?" I demanded, for though I knew McWhing's 
 name well enough having seen it signed ad nauseam to literary 
 articles in almost every paper extant, I had never met the man ; 
 " I cannot ask any favour of a press critic." 
 
 "Of course not !" and Lucio laughed heartily again — " If 
 you were to do such an idiotic thing what a slating you'd get 
 for your pains ! There's no sport a critic loves so much as 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 103 
 
 the flaying of an author who has made the mistake of lowering 
 himself to the level of asking favours of his intellectual inferiors. 
 No, no, my dear fellow ! — we shall manage McWhing quite 
 differently, /know him though you do not." 
 
 "Come, that's good news !" I exclaimed — "Upon my word, 
 Lucio, you seem to know everybody." 
 
 " I think I know most people worth knowing — " responded 
 Lucio quietly — " Though I by no means include Mr McWhing 
 in the category of worthiness. I happened to make his 
 personal acquaintance in a somewhat singular and exciting 
 manner. It was in Switzerland, on that awkward ledge of 
 rock known as the Mauvais Pas. I had been some weeks 
 in the neighbourhood on business of my own, and being sure- 
 footed and fearless, was frequently allowed by the guides to 
 volunteer my services with theirs. In this capacity of 
 amateur guide, capricious destiny gave me the pleasure of 
 escorting the timid and bilious McWhing across the chasms 
 of the Mer de Glace, and I conversed with him in the 
 choicest French all the while, a language of which, despite 
 his boasted erudition, he was deplorably ignorant. I knew 
 who he was, I must tell you, as I know most of his craft, and 
 had long been aware of him as one of the authorized 
 murderers of aspiring genius. When I got him on the 
 Mauvais Pas, I saw that he was seized with vertigo ; I held 
 him firmly by the arm and addressed him in sound strong 
 English thus — ' Mr. McWhing, you wrote a damnable and 
 scurrilous article against the work of a certain poet' and I 
 named the man — 'an article that was a tissue of lies from 
 beginning to end, and which by its cruelty and venom 
 embittered a life of brilliant promise, and crushed a nob'e 
 spirit. Now, unless you promise to write and publish in a 
 leading magazine a total recantation of this your crime when 
 you get back to England, — if you get back ! — giving that 
 wronged man the ' honourable mention' he rightly deserves, 
 — down you go ! I have but to loosen my hold !' Geoffre}^ 
 you should have seen McWhing then ! He whined, he 
 
104 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 wriggled, he clung ! Never was an oracle of the press in 
 such an unoracular condition. ^Murder!' — murder!' he 
 gasped, but his voice failed him. Above him towered the 
 snow peaks like the summits of that Fame he could not 
 reach and therefore grudged to others, — below him the glitter- 
 ing ice-waves yawned in deep transparent hollows of opaline 
 blue and green, — and afar off the tinkling cowbells echoed 
 through the still air, suggestive of safe green pastures and happy- 
 homes. ' Murder !' he whispered gurglingly. * Nay !' said I, 
 * 'tis I should cry Murder ! — for if ever an arresting hand held 
 a murderer, mine holds one now ! Your system of slaying is 
 worse than that of the midnight assassin, for the assassin can 
 but kill the body, — yozi strive to kill the soul. You cannot 
 succeed 'tis true, but the mere attempt is devilish. No shouts, 
 no struggles will serve you here, — we are alone with Eternal 
 Nature, — give the man you have slandered his tardy recogni- 
 tion, or else, as I said before — down you go !' Well, to make 
 my story short he yielded, and swore to do as I bade him, — 
 whereupon placing my arm round him as though he were my 
 tender twin-brother I led him safely off the Mauvais Pas and 
 dowm the kindlier hill, where, what with the fright and the 
 remains of vertigo he fell a' weeping grievously. Would you 
 believe it, that before we reached Chamounix we had become 
 the best friends in the world ? He explained himself and his 
 rascally modes of action, and I nobly exonerated him, — we 
 exchanged cards, and when we parted, this same author's bug- 
 bear McWhing, overcome with sentiment and whisky toddy 
 (he is a Scotchman you know) swore that I was the grandest 
 fellow in the world, and that if ever he could serve me he 
 would. He knew my princely title by this time, but he would 
 have given me a still higher name. ''You are not — hie — a 
 poet yourself?' he murmured, leaning on me fondly as he 
 rolled to bed. I told him no. 'I am sorry — very!' he de- 
 ckired, the tears of whisky rising to his eyes, ' If you had been 
 I would have done a great thing for you, — I would have 
 boomed you,— for ?iofhi/i^ /' I left him snoring nobly and 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 105 
 
 saw him no more. But I think he'll recognise me, Geoffrey; 
 — I'll go and look him up personally. By all the gods ! — if 
 he had only known who held him between life and death upon 
 the Mauvais Pas !" 
 
 I stared, puzzled. 
 
 "But he did know" — I said — "Did you not say you 
 exchanged cards ?' ' 
 
 " True, but that was afterwards !" and Lucio laughed — " I 
 assure you, my dear fellow, we can 'manage' McWhing !" 
 
 I was intensely interested in the story as he told it, — he 
 had such a dramatic way of speaking and looking, while his 
 very gestures brought the whole scene vividly before me like a 
 picture. I spoke out my thought impulsively. 
 
 " You would certainly have made a superb actor, Lucio !" 
 
 "How do you know I am not one?" he asked with a 
 flashing glance, — then he added quickly — "No, — there is no 
 occasion to paint the face and prance over the boards before 
 a row of tawdry footlights like the paid mimes in order to 
 be historically great. The finest actor is he who can play 
 the comedy of life perfectly, as I aspire to do. To walk 
 well, talk well, smile well, weep well, groan well, laugh well 
 — and die well ! — it is all pure acting, — because in every 
 man there is the dumb dreadful immortal Spirit who is real, 
 — who cannot act, — who Is, — and who steadily maintains an 
 infinite though speechless protest against the body's Lie !" 
 
 I said nothing in answer to this outburst, — I was beginning 
 to be used to his shifting humours and strange utterances, — 
 they increased the mysterious attraction I had for him and 
 made his character a perpetual riddle to me which was not 
 without its subtle charm. Every now and then I realized, 
 with a faintly startled sense of self-abasement, that I was com- 
 pletely under his dominance, — that my life was being entirely 
 guided by his control and suggestion, — but I argued with 
 myself that surely it was well it should be so, seeing he had 
 so much more experience and influence than I. We dined 
 together that night as we often did, and our conversation was 
 
io6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 entirely taken up with monetary and business concerns. 
 Under Lucio's advice I was making several important invest- 
 ments, and these matters gave us ample subject for discussion. 
 At about eleven o'clock, it being a fine frosty evening and fit 
 for brisk walking, we went out, our destination being the pri- 
 vate gambling club to which my companion had volunteered 
 to introduce me as a guest. It was situated at the end of 
 a mysterious little back street, not far from the respectable 
 precincts of Pali-Mall, and was an unpretentious looking 
 house enough outside, but within, it was sumptuously though 
 tastelessly furnished. Apparently, the premises were presided 
 over by a woman, — a woman with painted eyes and dyed hair 
 who received us first of all within the lamp-lighted splendours 
 of an Anglo-Japanese drawing-room. Her looks and manner 
 undisguisedly proclaimed her as a deuii-mondaine of the most 
 pronounced type, — one of those * pure' ladies with a ' past' 
 who are represented as such martyrs to the vices of men. 
 Lucio said something to her apart, — whereupon she glanced 
 at me deferentially and smiled, — then rang the bell. A 
 discreet looking man-servant in sober black made his appear- 
 ance, and at a slight sign from his mistress who bowed to me 
 as I passed her, proceeded to show us upstairs. We trod on 
 a carpet of the softest felt, — in fact I noticed that everything 
 was rendered as noiseless as possible in this establishment, 
 the very doors being covered with thick baize and swinging on 
 silent hinges. On the upper landing, the servant knocked 
 very cautiously at a side-door, — a key turned in the lock, and 
 we were admitted into a long double room, very brilliantly 
 lit with electric lamps, which at a first glance seemed crowded 
 with men playing at 7'ouge et noir and baccarat. Some looked 
 up as Lucio entered and nodded smilingly, — others glanced 
 inquisitively at me, but our entrance was otherwise scarcely 
 noticed. Lucio drawing me along by the arm, sat doAvn to 
 watch the play, — I followed his example and presently found 
 myself infected by the intense excitement which permeated 
 the room like the silent tension of the air before a thunder- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 107 
 
 storm. I recognised the faces of many well known public 
 men, — men eminent in politics and society whom one would 
 never have imagined capable of supporting a gambling club 
 by their presence and authority. But I took care to betray 
 no sign of surprise, and quietly observed the games and the 
 gamesters with almost as impassive a demeanour as that of my 
 companion. I was prepared to play and to lose, — I was not 
 prepared however for the strange scene which was soon to 
 occur and in which I, by force of circumstances was com- 
 pelled to take a leading part. 
 
 X 
 
 As soon as the immediate game we were watching was fin- 
 ished, the players rose, and greeted Lucio with a good deal of 
 eagerness and effusion. I instinctively guessed from their 
 manner that they looked upon him as an influential member 
 of the club, a person likely to lend them money to gamble 
 with, and otherwise to oblige them in various ways, financially 
 speaking. He introduced me to them all, and I was not slow 
 to perceive the effect my name had upon most of them. I 
 was asked if I would join in a game of baccarat, and I readily 
 consented. The stakes were ruinously high, but I had no 
 need to falter for that. One of the players near me was a 
 fair-haired young man, handsome in face and of aristocratic 
 bearing, — he had been introduced to me as Viscount Lynton. 
 I noticed him particularly on account of the reckless way he 
 had of doubling his stakes suddenly and apparently out of 
 mere bravado, and when he lost, as he mostly did, he laughed 
 uproariously as though he were drunk or delirious. On first 
 beginning to play I was entirely indifferent as to the results of 
 the game, caring nothing at all as to whether I had losses or 
 gains. Lucio did not join us, but sat apart, quietly observant, 
 and watching me, so I fancied, more than anyone. And as 
 
io8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 chance would have it, all the luck came my way, and I won 
 steadily. The more I won the more excited I became, till 
 presently my humour changed and I was seized by a whimsical 
 desire to lose. I suppose it was the touch of some better im- 
 pulse in my nature that made me wish this for young Lynton's 
 sake. For he seemed literally maddened by my constant 
 winnings, and continued his foolhardy and desperate play, — 
 his young face grew drawn and sharply thin, and his eyes 
 glittered with a hungry feverishness. The other gamesters, 
 though sharing in his run of ill-luck, seemed better able to 
 stand it, or perhaps they concealed their feelings more cleverly, 
 — anyhow I know I caught myself very earnestly wishing that 
 this devil's luck of mine would desert me and set in the young 
 Viscount's direction. But my wishes were no use, — again and 
 again I gathered up the stakes, till at last the players rose. 
 Viscount Lynton among them. 
 
 " Well, I'm cleaned out !" he said, with a loud forced laugh. 
 "You must give me my chance of a revanche to-morrow, Mr 
 Tempest ! ' ' 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 " With pleasure !" 
 
 He called a waiter at the end of the room to bring him a 
 brandy-and-soda, and meanwhile I was surrounded by the rest 
 of the men, all of them repeating the Viscount's suggestion of 
 a 'revanche,' and strenuously urging upon me the necessity of 
 returning to the club the next night in order to give them an 
 opportunity of winning back what they had lost. I readily 
 agreed, and while we were in the midst of talk, Lucio sud- 
 denly addressed young Lynton. 
 
 " Will you make up another game with me ?" he inquired. 
 'Til start the bank with this," — and he placed two crisp notes 
 of five hundred pounds each on the table. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. The Viscount was thirstily 
 drinking his brandy and-soda, and glanced over the rim of his 
 tall tumbler at the notes with covetous bloodshot eyes, — then 
 he shrugged his shoulders indifferently. " I can't stake any- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 109 
 
 thing," he said ; '' I've already told you I'm cleaned out, — • 
 'stony-broke,' as the slang goes. It's no use my joining." 
 
 ''Sit down, sit down, Lynton !" urged one man near him. 
 "I'll lend you enough to go on with." 
 
 "Thanks, I'd rather not!" he returned, flushing a little. 
 "I'm too much in your debt already. Awfully good of you 
 all the same. You go on, you fellows, and I'll watch the 
 play." 
 
 " Let me persuade you. Viscount Lynton," said Lucio, look- 
 ing at him with his dazzling inscrutable smile — "just for the 
 fun of the thing ! If you do not feel justified in staking 
 money, stake something trifling and merely nominal, for the 
 sake of seeing whether the luck will turn" — and here he took 
 up a counter — "This frequently represents fifty pounds, — let 
 it represent for once something that is not valuable like money, 
 — your soul, for example !" A burst of laughter broke from 
 all the men. Lucio laughed softly with them. 
 
 " We all have, I hope, enough instruction in modern science 
 to be aware that there is no such thing as a soul in existence' ' 
 — he continued. "Therefore, in proposing it as a stake for 
 this game at baccarat, I really propose less than one hair of 
 your head, because the hair is a something, and the soul is a 
 nothing ! Come ! will you risk that non-existent quantity for 
 the chance of winning a thousand pounds?" 
 
 The Viscount drained off the last drop of brandy, and turned 
 upon us, his eyes flashing mingled derision and defiance. 
 
 " Done !" he exclaimed ; whereupon the party sat down. 
 
 The game was brief, and in its rapid excitement almost 
 breathless. Six or seven minutes sufficed and Lucio rose, the 
 winner. He smiled as he pointed to the counter which had 
 represented Viscount Lynton' s last stake. 
 
 " I have won ! " he said quietly. " But you owe me nothing, 
 my dear Viscount, inasmuch as you risked — Nothing ! We 
 played this game simply for fun. If souls had any existence 
 of course I should claim yours ; — I wonder what I should do 
 with it by the way ! ' ' He laughed good-humouredly. " What 
 
no THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 nonsense, isn't it ! — and how thankful we ought to be that we 
 live in advanced days like the present, when such silly super- 
 stitions are being swept aside by the march of progress and 
 pure Reason ! Good-night ! Tempest and I will give you your 
 full revenge to-morrow, — the luck is sure to change by then, 
 and you will probably have the victory. Again — good-night ! ' ' 
 
 He held out his hand, — there was a peculiar melting tender- 
 ness in his brilliant dark eyes, — an impressive kindness in his 
 manner. Something — I could not tell what — held us all for 
 the moment spellbound as if by enchantment, and several of 
 the players at other tables, hearing of the eccentric stake 
 that had been wagered and lost, looked over at us curiously 
 from a distance. Viscount Lynton, however, professed him- 
 self immensely diverted, and shook Lucio's proffered hand 
 heartily. 
 
 ** You are an awfully good fellow !" he said, speaking a little 
 thickly and hurriedly — ^' and I assure you seriously if I had a 
 soul I should be very glad to part with it for a thousand pounds 
 at the present moment. The soul wouldn't be an atom of use 
 to me and the thousand pounds would. But I feel convinced 
 I shall win to-morrow." 
 
 *'I am equally sure you will!" returned Lucio affably; 
 *' In the meantime, you will not find my friend here, Geoffrey 
 Tempest, a hard creditor, — he can afford to wait. But in the 
 case of the lost soul," — here he paused, looking straight into 
 the young man's eyes, — *' of course /cannot afford to wait !" 
 
 The Viscount smiled vaguely at this pleasantry, and almost 
 immediately afterwards left the club. As soon as the door had 
 closed behind him, several of the gamesters exchanged sen- 
 tentious nods and glances. 
 
 *' Ruined !" said one of them in a sotto-voce. 
 
 ''His gambling debts are more than he can ever pay" — 
 added another — '' And I hear he has lost a clear fifty thousand 
 on the turf." 
 
 These remarks were made indifferently, as though one should 
 talk of the weather, — no sympathy was expressed, — no pity 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN iii 
 
 wasted. Every gambler there was selfish to the core, and as 
 I studied their hardened faces, a thrill of honest indignation 
 moved me, — indignation mingled with shame. I was not yet 
 altogether callous or cruel-hearted, though as I look back upon 
 those days which now resemble a wild vision rather than a 
 reality, I know that I was becoming more and more of a brutal 
 egoist with every hour I lived. Still I was so far then from 
 being utterly vile, that I inwardly resolved to write to Vis- 
 count Lynton that very evening, and tell him to consider his 
 debt to me cancelled, as I should refuse to claim it. While 
 this thought was passing through my mind, I met Lucio's gaze 
 fixed steadily upon me. He smiled, — and presently signed to 
 me to accompany him. In a few minutes we had left the 
 club, and were out in the cold night air under a heaven of 
 frostily sparkling stars. Standing still for a moment, my com- 
 panion laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 ''Tempest, if you are going to be kind-hearted or sympa- 
 thetic to undeserving rascals, I shall have to part company with 
 you !" he said, with a curious mixture of satire and serious- 
 ness in his voice — " I see by the expression of your face that 
 you are meditating some silly disinterested action of pure gen- 
 erosity. Now you might just as well flop down on these 
 paving stones and begin saying prayers in public. You want 
 to let Lynton off his debt, — you are a fool for your pains. He 
 is a born scoundrel, — and has never seen his way to being 
 anything else, — why should you compassionate him? From 
 the time he first went to college till now, he has been doing 
 nothing but live a life of degraded sensuality, — he is a worth- 
 less rake, less to be respected than an honest dog !" 
 
 *' Yet some one loves him I daresay !" I said. 
 
 " Some one loves him !" echoed Lucio, with inimitable dis- 
 dain — " Bah ! Three ballet girls live on him if that is what 
 you mean. His mother loved him, — but she is dead, — he 
 broke her heart. He is no good I tell you, — let him pay his 
 debt in full, even to the soul he staked so lightly. If I were 
 the devil now, and had just won the strange game we played 
 
112 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 to-night, I suppose according to priestly tradition, I should 
 be piling up the fire for Lynton in high glee, — but being what 
 I am, I say let the man alone to make his own destiny, — let 
 things take their course, — and as he chose to risk everything, 
 so let him pay everything." 
 
 We were by this time walking slowly into Pall-Mall, — I 
 was on the point of making some reply, when catching sight 
 of a man's figure on the opposite side of the way, not far 
 from the Marlborough Club, I uttered an involuntary ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 *' Why there he is !" I said — " there is Viscount Lynton !" 
 
 Lucio's hand closed tightly on my arm. 
 
 *' You don't want to speak to him now surely !" 
 
 ''No. But I wonder where he's going? He walks rather 
 unsteadily." 
 
 " Drunk, most probably !" 
 
 And Lucio's face presented the same relentless expression 
 of scorn I had so often seen and marvelled at. 
 
 We paused a moment, watching the Viscount strolling aim- 
 lessly up and down in front of the clubs, — till all at once he 
 seemed to come to a sudden resolution, and stopping short, he 
 shouted, 
 
 "Hansom!" 
 
 A silent-wheeled smart vehicle came bowling up immedi- 
 ately. Giving some order to the driver, he jumped in. The 
 cab approached swiftly in our direction, — just as it passed us 
 the loud report of a pistol crashed on the silence. 
 
 "Good God!" I cried reeling back a step or two — "He 
 has shot himself ! ' ' 
 
 The hansom stopped, — the driver sprang down,— club- 
 porters, waiters, policemen and no end of people starting up 
 from Heaven knows where, were on the scene on an instant, 
 — I rushed forward to join the rapidly gathering throng, but 
 before I could do so, Lucio's strong arm was thrown round 
 me, and he dragged me by main force away. 
 
 " Keep cool, Geoffrey !" he said—" Do you want to be called 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 113 
 
 up to identify ? And betray the club and all its members ? 
 Not while I am here to prevent you ! Check your mad 
 impulses, my good fellow, — they will lead you into no end of 
 difficulties. If the man's dead, he's dead and there's an end 
 of it." 
 
 " Lucio ! You have no heart!" I exclaimed, struggling 
 violently to escape from his hold — '' How can you stop to 
 reason in such a case ! Think of it ! / am the cause of all 
 the mischief ! — it is my cursed luck at baccarat this evening 
 that has been the final blow to the wretched young fellow's 
 fortunes, — I am convinced of it 1 — I shall never forgive 
 myself — ' ' 
 
 '' Upon my word, Geoffrey, your conscience is very tender !" 
 he answered, holding my arm still more closely, and hurrying 
 me away despite myself — '' You must try and toughen it a 
 little if you want to be successful in life. Your ' cursed luck' 
 you think, has caused Lynton's death? Surely it is a contra- 
 diction in terms to call luck 'cursed,' — and as for the Vis- 
 count, he did not need that last game at baccarat to emphasize 
 his ruin. You are not to blame. And for the sake of the 
 club, if for nothing else, I do not intend either you or myself 
 to be mixed up in a case of suicide. The coroner's verdict 
 always disposes of these incidents comfortably in two words — 
 'Temporary insanity.' " 
 
 I shuddered. My soul sickened as I thought that within a 
 few yards of us was the bleeding corpse of the man I had so 
 lately seen alive and spoken with, — and notwithstanding Lu- 
 cio's words, I felt as if I had murdered him. 
 
 *' ' Temporary insanity,' " repeated Lucio again, as if speak- 
 ing to himself — "All remorse, despair, outraged honour, 
 wasted love, together with the scientific modern theory of 
 Reasonable Nothingness — Life a Nothing, God a Nothing, — 
 when these drive the distracted human unit to make of him- 
 self also a nothing, ' temporary insanity' covers up his plunge 
 into the infinite with an untruthful pleasantness. However, 
 after all, it is as Shakespeare says, a mad world !" 
 h 10* 
 
114 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 I made no answer. I was too overcome by my own miser- 
 able sensations. 1 walked along almost unconscious of move- 
 ment, and as I stared bewilderedly up at the stars they danced 
 before my sight like fireflies whirling in a mist of miasma. 
 Presently a faint hope occurred to me. 
 
 '' Perhaps," I said, ''he has not really killed himself? It 
 may be only an attempt ?' ' 
 
 *'Hewas a capital shot" — returned Lucio composedly, — 
 ''That was his one quality. He had no principles — but he 
 was a good marksman. I cannot imagine his missing aim." 
 
 " It is horrible ! An hour ago alive, . . . and now . . . 
 I tell you, Lucio, it is horrible ! ' ' 
 
 " What is ? Death ? It is not half so horrible as Life lived 
 wrongly" — he responded, with a gravity that impressed me 
 in spite of my emotion and excitement — "Believe me, the 
 mental sickness and confusion of a wilfully degraded ex- 
 istence are worse tortures than are contained in the priestly 
 notions of Hell. Come, come, Geoffrey, you take this matter 
 too much to heart, — you are not to blame. If Lynton has 
 given himself the ' happy dispatch' it is really the best thing 
 he could do, — he was of no use to anybody, and he is well 
 out of it. It is positively weak of you to attach importance 
 to such a trifle. You are only at the beginning of your 
 career " 
 
 "Well, I hope that career will not lead me into any more 
 such tragedies as the one enacted to-night," — I said passion- 
 ately — " If it does, it will be entirely against my will." 
 
 Lucio looked at me curiously. 
 
 " Nothing can happen to you against your will," — he re- 
 plied ; "I suppose you wish to imply that I am to blame for 
 introducing you to the club ? My good fellow, you need not 
 have gone there unless you had chosen to do so ! I did not 
 bind and drag you there ! You are upset and unnerved, — 
 come into my room and take a glass of wine, — you will feel 
 more of a man afterwards." 
 
 We had by this time reached the hotel, and I went with 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 115 
 
 him passively. With equal passiveness I drank what he gave 
 me, and stood, glass in hand, watching him with a kind of 
 morbid fascination as he threw off his fur-lined overcoat and 
 confronted me, his pale handsome face strangely set and stern, 
 and his dark eyes glittering like cold steel. 
 
 **That last stake of Lynton's, ... to you — " I said fal- 
 teringly — " His soul " 
 
 '' Wliich he did not believe in, and \Av\q}!lv you do not be- 
 lieve in!" returned Lucio regarding me fixedly. ''Why do 
 you now seem to tremble at a mere sentimental idea ? If fan- 
 tastic notions such as God, the Soul, and the Devil were real 
 facts, there would perhaps be cause for trembling, but being 
 only the brainsick imaginations of superstitious mankind, 
 there is nothing in them to awaken the slightest anxiety or 
 fear." 
 
 '* But you" — I began — '' you say you believe in the soul ?" 
 
 **I? I am brainsick!" and he laughed bitterly — ''Have 
 you not found that out yet ? Much learning hath driven me 
 mad, my friend ! Science has led me into such deep wells 
 of dark discovery, that it is no wonder if my senses some- 
 times reel, — and I believe — at su.ch insane moments — in the 
 Soul!" 
 
 I sighed heavily. 
 
 ** I think I will go to bed," I answered. " I am tired out, 
 — and absolutely miserable !" 
 
 " Alas, poor millionaire !" said Lucio gently, — " I am sorry, 
 I assure you, that the evening has ended so disastrously." 
 
 " So am I !" I returned despondently. 
 
 "Imagine it!" he went on, dreamily regarding me — "If 
 my beliefs, — my crack-brained theories, — were worth any- 
 thing^ — which they are not — I could claim the only positive 
 existing part of our late acquaintance Viscount Lynton I But, 
 — where and how to send in my account with him ? If I were 
 Satan now ..." 
 
 I forced a faint smile. 
 
 " You would have cause to rejoice !" I said. 
 
ii6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 He moved two paces towards me, and laid his hands gently 
 on my shoulders. 
 
 "No, Geoffrey" — and his rich voice had a strange soft 
 music in it — *' No, my friend ! If I were Satan, I should 
 probably lament ! — for every lost soul would of necessity 
 remind me of my own fall, my own despair, — and set another 
 bar between myself and heaven ! Remember, — the very 
 Devil was an Angel once ! ' ' 
 
 His eyes smiled, and yet I could have sworn there were 
 tears in them. I wrung his hand hard, — I felt that nothwith- 
 standing his assumed coldness and cynicism, the fate of young 
 Lynton had affected him profoundly. My liking for him 
 gained new fervour from this impression, and I went to bed 
 more at ease with myself and things in general. During the 
 few minutes I spent in undressing I became even able to con- 
 template the tragedy of the evening with less regret and greater 
 calmness, — for it was certainly no use worrying over the irrev- 
 ocable, — and, after all, what interest had the Viscount's life 
 for me ? None. I began to ridicule myself for my own weak- 
 ness and disinterested emotion, — and presently, being thor- 
 oughly fatigued, fell sound asleep. Towards morning however, 
 perhaps about four or five o'clock, I woke suddenly as though 
 touched by an invisible hand. I was shivering violently, and 
 my body was bathed in a cold perspiration. In the otherwise 
 dark room there was something strangely luminous, like a cloud 
 of white smoke or fire. I started up, rubbing my eyes, — and 
 stared before me for a moment, doubting the evidence of my 
 own senses. For, plainly visible and substantially distinct, 
 at a distance of perhaps five paces from my bed stood three 
 Figures, muffled in dark garments and closely hooded. So 
 solemnly inert they were, — so heavily did their sable draperies 
 fall about them that it was impossible to tell whether they were 
 men or women, — but what paralyzed me with amazement and 
 terror was the strange light that played around and above them, 
 — the spectral, wandering chill radiance that illumined them 
 like the rays of a faint wintry moon. I strove to cry out, — 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 117 
 
 but my tongue refused to obey me — and my voice was strangled 
 in my throat. The Three remained absokitely motionless, — • 
 and again I rubbed my eyes, wondering if this were a dream 
 or some hideous optical delusion. Trembling in every limb, I 
 stretched my hand towards the bell, intending to ring violently 
 for assistance, — when — a Voice, low and thrilling with intense 
 anguish caused me to shrink back appalled, and my arm fell 
 nerveless at my side. 
 
 ''Misery !'' 
 
 The word struck the air with a harsh reproachful clang, and 
 I nearly swooned with the horror of it. For now one of the 
 Figures moved, and a face gleamed out from beneath its 
 hooded wrappings — a face white as whitest marble and fixed 
 into such an expression of dreadful despair as froze ray blood. 
 Then came a deep sigh that was more like a death-groan, and 
 again the word ''Misery !'' shuddered upon the silence ! 
 
 Mad with fear and scarcely knowing what I did, I sprang 
 from the bed, and began desperately to advance upon these 
 fantastic masqueraders, determined to seize them and demand 
 the meaning of this practical and untimely jest, — when sud- 
 denly all three lifted their heads and turned their faces on me, 
 — such faces ! — indescribably awful in their pallid agony, — and 
 a whisper more ghastly than a shriek, penetrated the very fibres 
 of my consciousness — "Misery !^' 
 
 With a furious bound I flung myself upon them, — my 
 hands struck empty space ! Yet there — distinct as ever — they 
 stood, glowering down upon me, while my clenched fists beat 
 impotently through and beyond their seeming corporeal 
 shapes ! And then — all at once — I became aware of their 
 eyes, — eyes that watched me pitilessly, stedfastly, and disdain- 
 fully, — eyes, that like witch-fires, seemed to slowly burn terrific 
 meanings into my very flesh and spirit. Convulsed and almost 
 frantic with the strain on my nerves, I abandoned myself to 
 despair, — this ghastly sight meant death I thought, — my last 
 hour had surely come ! Then — I saw the lips of one of those 
 dreadful faces move . . . some superhuman instinct in me 
 
ii8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 leaped to life, ... in some strange way I thought I knew, or 
 guessed the horror of what that next utterance would be, . . . 
 and with all my remaining force I cried out, — 
 
 *' No ! No ! Not that eternal Doom ! Not yet !" 
 Fighting the vacant air, I strove to beat back those intangi- 
 ble awful Shapes that loomed above me, withering up my soul 
 with the fixed stare of their angry eyes, and with a choking 
 call for help, I fell, as it were, into a pit of darkness where I 
 lay, mercifully unconscious. 
 
 XI 
 
 How the ensuing hours between this horrible episode and 
 full morning elapsed I do not know. I was dead to all im- 
 pressions. I woke at last, or rather recovered my senses to 
 see the sunlight pouring pleasantly through the half-drawn 
 curtains at my window, and to find myself in bed in as restful 
 a position as though I had never left it. Was it then merely 
 a vision I had seen? — a ghastly sort of nightmare? If so it 
 was surely the most abhorrent illusion ever evolved from dream- 
 land ! It could not be a question of health, for I had never 
 felt better in my life. I lay for some time quiescent, thinking 
 over the matter, with my eyes fixed on that part of the room 
 where those Three Shapes had seemingly stood ; but I had 
 lately got into such a habit of cool self-analysis, that by the 
 time my valet brought my early cup of coffee, I had decided 
 that the whole thing was a dreadful fantasy, born of my own 
 imagination, which had no doubt been unduly excited by the 
 affair of Viscount Lynton's suicide. I soon learned that there 
 was no room left for doubt as to that unhappy young noble- 
 man's actual death. A brief account of it was in the morning 
 papers, though as the tragedy had occurred so late at night, 
 there were no details. A vague hint of ' money difficulties' 
 was thrown out in one journal, — but beyond that, and the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 119 
 
 statement that the body had been conveyed to the mortuary 
 there to await an inquest, there was nothing said either per- 
 sonal or particular. I found Lucio in the smoking-room, and 
 it was he who first silently pointed out to me the short para- 
 graph headed ' Suicide of a Viscount. ' 
 
 '* I told you he was a good shot !" he commented. 
 
 I nodded. Somehow I had ceased to feel much interest in 
 the subject. My emotion of the previous evening had appar- 
 ently exhausted all my stock of sympathy and left me coldly 
 indifferent. Absorbed in myself and my own concerns I sat 
 down to talk, and was not long before I had given a full and 
 circumstantial account of the spectral illusion which had so 
 unpleasantly troubled me during the night. Lucio listened, 
 smiling oddly. 
 
 ''That old Tokay was evidently too strong for you !' ' he 
 said, when I had concluded my story. 
 
 "Did you me give old Tokay?" I responded laughing — 
 " Then the mystery is explained ! I was already overwrought, 
 and needed no stimulant. But what tricks the imagination 
 plays us to be sure ! You have no idea of the distinct 
 manner in which those three phantoms asserted themselves ! 
 The impression was extraordinarily vivid." 
 
 "No doubt!" And his dark eyes studied me curiously. 
 "Impressions often are very vivid. See what a marvellously 
 real impression this world makes upon us, for example !" 
 
 "Ah ! But then the world is real !" I answered. 
 
 "Is it? You accept it as such, I daresay, and things are 
 as they appear to each separate individual. No two human 
 beings think alike ; hence there may be conflicting opinions 
 as to the reality or non-reality of this present world. But 
 we will not take unnecessary plunges into the infinite ques- 
 tion of what IS, as contrasted with what appears to be. I 
 have some letters here for your consideration. You have 
 lately spoken of buying a country estate — what say you to 
 Willowsmere Court in Warwickshire? I have had my eye 
 on that place for you, — it seems to me just the very thing. 
 
120 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 It is a magnificent old pile ; part of it dates from Elizabeth's 
 time. It is in excellent repair, the grounds are most pic- 
 turesque ; the classic river Avon winds with rather a broad 
 sweep through the park, — and the whole thing, with a great 
 part of the furniture included, is to be sold for a mere song ; 
 — fifty thousand pounds cash. I think you had better go in 
 for it ; it would just suit your literary and poetic tastes." 
 
 Was it my fancy, or had his musical voice the faintest touch 
 of a sneer as he uttered the last words ? I would not allow 
 myself to think this possible, and answered quickly, — 
 
 ' ' Anything you recommend must be worth looking at, and 
 I'll certainly go and see it. The description sounds well, and 
 Shakespeare's country always appeals to me. But wouldn't 
 you like to secure it for yourself?" 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " Not I ! I live nowhere for long. I am of a roving dis- 
 position, and am never happy tied down to one corner of 
 the earth. But I suggest Willowsmere to you for two reasons, 
 — first, that it is charming and perfectly appointed ; secondly, 
 that it will impress Lord Elton considerably if he knows you 
 are going to buy it." 
 
 *'Howso?" 
 
 '' Why, because it used to be his property" — returned Lucio 
 quietly — "till he got into the hands of the Jews. He gave 
 them Willowsmere as security for loans, and latterly they 
 have stepped in as owners. They've sold most of the pic- 
 tures, china, bric-a-brac and other valuables. By the way, 
 have you noticed how the legended God still appears to 
 protect the house of Israel ? Particularly the ' base usurer' 
 who is allowed to get the unhappy Christian into his clutches 
 nine times out of ten ? And no remedy drops from heaven ! 
 The Jew always triumphs. Rather inconsistent isn't it, on 
 the part of an equitable Deity!" His eyes flashed strange 
 scorn. Anon he resumed — ''As a result of Lord Elton's un- 
 fortunate speculations, and the Jews' admirable shrewdness, 
 Willowsmere, as I tell you, is in the market, and fifty thou- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 121 
 
 sand pounds will make you the envied owner of a place worth 
 a hundred thousand." 
 
 ''We dine at the Eltons* to-night, do we not?" I asked 
 musingly, 
 
 " We do. You cannot have forgotten tliat engagement and 
 Lady Sibyl so soon surely !" he answered laughing. 
 
 "No, I have not forgotten" — I said at last, after a little 
 silence. " And I will buy this Willowsmere. I will telegraph 
 instructions to my lawyers at once. Will you give me the 
 name and address of the agents?" 
 
 '' With pleasure, my dear boy !" And Lucio handed me a 
 letter containing the particulars concerning the sale of the 
 estate and other items. "But are you not making up your 
 mind rather suddenly? Hadn't you better inspect the 
 property first ? There may be things you object to ' ' 
 
 "If it were a rat-infested barrack," I said resolutely — "I 
 would still buy it ! I shall settle the matter at once. I wish 
 to let Lord Elton know this very night that I am the future 
 owner of Willowsmere !" 
 
 " Good !" — and my companion thrust his arm through mine 
 as we left the smoking-room together — " I like your swiftness 
 of action, Geoffrey. It is admirable ! I always respect de- 
 termination. Even if a man makes up his mind to go to 
 hell, I honour him for keeping to his word, and going there 
 straight as a die ! ' ' 
 
 I laughed, and we parted in high good-humour, — he to fulfil 
 a club engagement, I to telegraph precise instructions to my 
 legal friends Messrs Bentham and Ellis, for the immediate 
 purchase in my name at all costs, risks or inconveniences, 
 of the estate known as Willowsmere Court in the county of 
 Warwick. 
 
 That evening I dressed with more than common care, giving 
 my man Morris almost as much trouble as if I had been a 
 fidgety woman. He waited upon me however with exemplary 
 patience, and only when I was quite ready did he venture to 
 utter what had evidently been on his mind for some time. 
 
 F II 
 
122 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 "Excuse me, sir"— he then observed— '' but I daresay 
 you've noticed that there's something unpleasant-like about 
 the prince's valet, Amiel ?" 
 
 *' Well, he's rather a down-looking fellow if that's what you 
 mean" — I replied — ''But I suppose there's no harm in him." 
 
 " I don't know about that, sir" — answered Morris severely ; 
 " He does a great many strange things I do assure you. 
 Downstairs with the servants he goes on something sur- 
 prising. Sings and acts and dances too as if he were a whole 
 music-hall." 
 
 "Really !" I exclaimed in surprise— "I should never have 
 thought it." 
 
 " Nor should I, sir, but it's a fact." 
 
 " He must be rather an amusing fellow then," — I continued, 
 wondering that my man should take the accomplishments of 
 Amiel in such an injured manner. 
 
 " Oh, I don't say anything against his amusingness," — and 
 Morris rubbed his nose with a doubtful air — "It's all very 
 well for him to cut capers and make himself agreeable if he 
 likes, — but it's the deceit of him that surprises me, sir. 
 You'd think to look at him, that he was a decent sort of 
 dull chap with no ideas beyond his duty, but really, sir, it's 
 quite the contrary, if you'll believe me. The language he 
 uses when he's up to his games downstairs is something 
 frightful ! and he actually swears he learnt it from the 
 gentlemen of the turf, sir ! Last night he was play acting 
 and taking off all the fashionable folks, — then he took to hyp- 
 notising — and upon my word it made my blood run cold." 
 
 "Why, what did he do?" I asked with some curiosity. 
 
 " Well, sir, he took one of the scullery-maids and set her 
 in a chair and just pointed at her. Pointed at her and 
 grinned, for all the world like a devil out of a pantomime. 
 And though she is generally a respectable sober young woman, 
 if she didn't get up with a screech and commence dancing 
 round and round like a lunatic, while he kept on pointing. 
 And presently she got to jumping and lifting her skirts that 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 123 
 
 high that it was positively scandalous ! Some of us tried 
 to stop her and couldn't; she was like mad, till all at once 
 number twenty-two bell rang — that's the prince's room, — 
 and he just caught hold of her, set her down in her chair 
 again, and clapped his hands. She came to directly, and 
 didn't know a bit what she'd been doing. Then twenty- 
 two bell rang again, and the fellow rolled up his eyes like a 
 clergyman and said, ' Let us pray !' and off he went." 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " He seems to have a share of humour at anyrate" — I said ; 
 "I should not have thought it of him. But do you think 
 these antics of his are mischievous?" 
 
 " Well that scullery girl is very ill to-day" — replied Morris ; 
 "I expect she'll have to leave. She has what she calls the 
 'jumps' and none of us dare tell her how she got them. No 
 sir, believe me or not as you like, there's something very 
 queer about that Amiel. And another thing I want to know 
 is this — what does he do with the other servants?" 
 
 ** What does he do with the other servants?" I repeated 
 bewilderedly — " What on earth do you mean?" 
 
 ''Well sir, the prince has a c/ief of his own hasn't he?" 
 said Morris enumerating on his fingers — "And two personal 
 attendants besides Amiel, — quiet fellows enough who help 
 in the waiting. Then he has a coachman and groom. That 
 makes six servants altogether. Now none of these except 
 Amiel are ever seen in the hotel kitchens. The c/ief sends 
 all the meals in from somewhere, in a heated receptacle — 
 and the two other fellows are never seen except when waiting 
 at table, and they don't live in their own rooms all day though 
 they may sleep there, — and nobody knows where the carriage 
 and horses are put up, or where the coachman and groom 
 lodge. Certain it is that both they and the c/ie/ board out. 
 It seems to me very mysterious." 
 
 I began to feel quite unreasonably irritated. 
 
 " Look here, Morris," I said — " There's nothing more use- 
 less or more harmful than the habit of inquiring into other 
 
124 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 people's affairs. The prince has a right to live as he likes, 
 and do as he pleases with his servants — I am sure he pays 
 royally for his privileges. And whether his cook lives in or 
 out, up in the skies or down in a cellar, is no matter of mine. 
 He has been a great traveller, and no doubt has his pecu- 
 liarities ; and probably his notions concerning food are very 
 particular and fastidious. But I don't want to know any- 
 thing about his menage. If you dislike Amiel, it's easy to 
 avoid him, but for goodness' sake don't go making mysteries 
 where none exist." 
 
 Morris looked up, then down, and folded one of my coats 
 with special care. I saw I had effectually checked his flow of 
 confidence. 
 
 ^' Very well, sir," — he observed, and said no more. 
 
 I was rather diverted than otherwise at my servant's solemn 
 account of Amiel' s peculiarities as exhibited among his own 
 class,— and when we were driving to Lord Elton's that evening 
 I told something of the story to Lucio. He laughed. 
 
 " Amiel' s spirits are often too much for him" — he said — 
 '* He is a perfect imp of mischief and cannot always control 
 himself." 
 
 " Why, what a wrong estimate I have formed of him !" I 
 said — ''I thought he had a peculiarly grave and somewhat 
 sullen disposition." 
 
 ''You know the trite saying — appearances are deceptive?" 
 went on my companion lightly — "It's extremely true. The 
 professed humourist is nearly always a disagreeable and 
 heavy man personally. As for Amiel, he is like me in the 
 respect of not being at all what he seems. His only fault is 
 a tendency to break the bounds of discipline, but otherwise 
 he serves me well, and I do not inquire further. Is Morris 
 disgusted or alarmed?" 
 
 ''Neither I think," I responded laughing— " He merely 
 presents himself to me as an example of outraged respect- 
 ability." 
 
 "Ah then, you may be sure that when the scullery-maid 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 125 
 
 was dancing, he observed her steps with the closest nicety," 
 said Lucio. *' Very respectable men are always particular of 
 inspection into these matters ! Soothe his ruffled feelings, 
 my dear Geoffrey, and tell him that Amiel is the very soul 
 of virtue ! I have had him in my service for a long time, 
 and can urge nothing against his character as a man. He 
 does not pretend to be an angel. His tricks of speech and 
 behaviour are the result of a too constant repression of his 
 natural hilarity, but he is really an excellent fellow. He 
 dabbled in hypnotic science when he was with me in India ; 
 I have often warned him of the danger there is in practising 
 this force on the uninitiated. But — a scullery-maid ! — 
 heavens, there are so many scullery-maids ! One more or 
 less with the 'jumps' will not matter. This is Lord Elton's." 
 
 The carriage stopped before a handsome house situated a 
 little back from Park Lane. We were admitted by a man- 
 servant gorgeous in red plush, white silk hose, and powdered 
 wig, who passed us on majestically to his twin-brother in 
 height and appearance, though perhaps a trifle more disdain- 
 ful in bearing, and he in his turn ushered us upstairs with the 
 air of one who should say, ^' See to what ignominious degrada- 
 tion a cruel fate reduces so great a man !" In the drawing- 
 room we found Lord Elton, standing on the hearth-rug with 
 his back to the fire, and directly opposite him, in a low arm- 
 chair, reclined an elegantly attired young lady with very small 
 feet. I mention the feet because as I entered they were the 
 most prominent part of her person, being well stretched out 
 from beneath the would-be concealment of sundry flounced 
 petticoats towards the warmth of the fire, which the Earl 
 rather inconsiderately screened from view. There was another 
 lady in the room sitting bolt upright with hands neatly folded 
 on her lap, and to her we were first of all introduced when 
 Lord Elton's own effusive greetings were over. 
 
 " Charlotte, allow me, — my friends, Prince Lucio Rimanez ; 
 Mr Geoffrey Tempest ; gentlemen, my &ister-in-law, Miss 
 Charlotte Fitzroy." 
 
 II* 
 
126 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 We bowed ; the lady gave us a dignified bend of the head. 
 She was an imposing looking spinster, with a curious expres- 
 sion on her features which was difficult to construe. It was 
 pious and prim ; but it also suggested the idea that she must 
 have seen something excessively improper once in her life and 
 had never been able to forget it. The pursed-up mouth, the 
 round pale-coloured eyes and the chronic air of insulted virtue 
 which seemed to pervade her from head to foot all helped to 
 deepen this impression. One could not look at Miss Charlotte 
 long without beginning to wonder irreverently what it was that 
 had, in her long past youth, so outraged the cleanly proprieties 
 of her nature as to leave such indelible traces on her counte- 
 nance. But I have since seen many English AvomCn look so, 
 especially among the particularly * high bred,' old and plain- 
 featured of the ''upper ten." Very different was the saucy 
 and bright physiognomy of the younger lady to whom we 
 were next presented, and who, raising herself languidly from 
 her reclining position, smiled at us with encouraging famili- 
 arity as we made our salutations. 
 
 "Miss Diana Chesney," said the Earl glibly. ''You per- 
 haps know her father, prince, — you must have heard of him 
 at any rate, — the famous Nicodemus Chesney, one of the great 
 railway-kings." 
 
 "Of course I kn ow him, ' ' responded Lucio warmly. ' ' Who 
 does not ! I have met him often. A charming man, gifted 
 with most remarkable humour and vitality, — I remember him 
 perfectly. We saw a good deal of each other in Washing- 
 ton." 
 
 "Did you, though?" said Miss Chesney with a somewhat 
 indifferent interest. " He's a queer sort of man to my think- 
 ing; rather a cross between the ticket-collector and custom- 
 house officer combined, you know ! I never see him but 
 what I feel I must start on a journey directly — railways seem 
 to be written all over him. I tell him so. I say, ' Pa, if you 
 didn't carry railway-tracks in your face you'd be better look- 
 ing.' And you found him humorous, did you?" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 127 
 
 Laughing at the novel and free way in which this young 
 person criticised her parent, Lucio protested that he did. 
 
 *' Well I don't," confessed Miss Chesney: '' But that may 
 be because I've heard all his stories over and over again, and 
 I've read most of them in books besides, — so they're not 
 much account to me. He tells some of them to the Prince of 
 Wales whenever he can get a chance, — but he don't try them 
 off on me any more. He's a real clever man too ; he's made 
 his pile quicker than most. And you're quite right about his 
 vitality, — my ! — his laugh takes you into the middle of next 
 week!" 
 
 Her bright eyes flashed merrily as she took a comprehen- 
 sive survey of our, amused faces. 
 
 "Think I'm irreverent, don't you?" she went on. ''But 
 you know Pa's not a 'stage parent,' all dressed out in lovely 
 white hair and benedictions, — he's just an accommodating 
 railway-track, and he wouldn't like to be reverenced. Do 
 sit down, won't you?" Then turning her pretty head coquet- 
 tishly towards her host, — " Make them sit down. Lord Elton, 
 — I hate to see men standing. The superior sex you know ! 
 Besides, you're so tall," she added, glancing with unconcealed 
 admiration at Lucio's handsome face and figure, "that it's 
 like peering up an apple-tree at the moon to look at you !" 
 
 Lucio laughed heartily and seated himself near her ; I fol- 
 lowed his example ; the old Earl still kept his position, legs 
 a-straddle, on the hearth-rug, and beamed benevolence upon 
 us all. Certainly Diana Chesney was a captivating creature; 
 one of those surface-clever American women who distinctly 
 divert men's minds, without in the least rousing their passions. 
 
 "So you're the famous Mr Tempest?" she said, surveying 
 me critically. "Why, it's simply splendid for you, isn't it? 
 I always say it's no use having a heap of money unless you're 
 young, — if you're old, you only want it to fill your doctor's 
 pockets while he tries to mend your tuckered-out constitu- 
 tion. I once knew an old lady who was left a legacy of a 
 hundred thousand pounds when she was ninety-five. Poor 
 
128 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 old dear, she cried over it. She just had sense enough to 
 understand what a good time she couldn't have. She lived 
 in bed, and her only luxury was a halfpenny bun dipped in 
 milk for her tea. It was all she cared for. ' ' 
 
 "A hundred thousand pounds would go a long way in 
 buns !" I said smiling. 
 
 '' Wouldn't it just !" and the fair Diana laughed. '' But I 
 guess jw/// want something a little more substantial for your 
 cash, Mr Tempest. A fortune in the prime of life is worth 
 having. I suppose you're one of the richest men about just 
 now, aren't you?" 
 
 She put the question in a perfectly naive frank manner, and 
 seemed to be unconscious of any undue inquisitiveness in it. 
 
 ''I may be one of the richest," I replied, and as I spoke 
 the thought flashed suddenly across me how recently I had 
 been one of the poorest ! — ''but my friend here, the prince, 
 is far richer than I." 
 
 ''Is that so!" and she stared straight at Lucio, who met 
 her gaze with an indulgent, half satirical smile. " Well now ! 
 I guess Pa's no better than a sort of pauper after all ! Why, 
 you must have the world at your feet ! ' ' 
 
 " Pretty much so," replied Lucio composedly. " But then, 
 my dear Miss Chesney, the world is so very easily brought to 
 one's feet. Surely, you know that?" 
 
 And he emphasized the words by an expressive look of his 
 fine eyes. 
 
 "I guess you mean compliments," she replied unconcern- 
 edly. " I don't like them as a rule, but I'll forgive you this 
 once !" 
 
 "Do!" said Lucio with one of his dazzling smiles that 
 caused her to stop for a moment in her voluble chatter, and 
 observe him with mingled fascination and wonderment. 
 
 "And you too are young, like Mr Tempest," she re- 
 sumed presently. 
 
 "Pardon me!" interrupted Lucio; "I am many years 
 older." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 129 
 
 ''Really!" exclaimed Lord Elton at this juncture. ''You 
 don't look it, — does he, Charlotte?" 
 
 Miss Fitzroy, thus appealed to, raised her elegant tortoise- 
 shell-framed glasses to her eyes and peered critically at us 
 both. 
 
 " I should imagine the prince to be slightly the senior of 
 Mr Tempest," she remarked in precise, high-bred accents, 
 — "but only very slightly." 
 
 "'Anyhow," resumed Miss Chesney, " you're young enough 
 to enjoy your wealth, aren't you?" 
 
 "Young enough, or old enough, — ^just as you please," 
 said Lucio with a careless shrug. " But, as it happens, I do 
 not enjoy it." 
 
 Miss Chesney's whole aspect now expressed the most lively 
 astonishment. 
 
 " What does money do for you?" went on Lucio, his eyes 
 dilating with that strange and wistful expression which had 
 often excited my curiosity. "The world is at your feet, 
 perhaps ; yes — but what a world ! What a trumpery clod of 
 kickable matter ! Wealth acts merely as a kind of mirror to 
 show you human nature at its worst. Men skulk and fawn 
 about you, and lie twenty times in as many hours, in the hope 
 to propitiate you and serve their own interests ; the princes of 
 the blood willingly degrade themselves and their position to 
 borrow cash of you, — your intrinsic merit (if you have any) 
 is thought nothing of, — your full pockets are your credentials 
 with kings, prime ministers and councillors. You may talk 
 like a fool, laugh like a hyena and look like a baboon, but if 
 the chink-chink of your gold be only sufficiently loud, you 
 may soon find yourself dining with the Queen if such be your 
 ambition. If, on the contrary you happen to be truly great, 
 brave, patient, and enduring, with a spark in you of that 
 genius which strengthens life and makes it better worth living, 
 — if you have thoughts which take shape in work that shall 
 endure when kingdoms are swept away like dust before the 
 wind, — and if, with all this you are yet poor in current coin, 
 
I30 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 — why then, you shall be spurned by all the crowned dummies 
 of the world, — you shall be snubbed by the affluent starch- 
 maker, and the Croesus who lives on a patent pill,— the trades- 
 man from whom you buy bedsteads and kitchen ware can look 
 down upon you with lordly scorn, for does he not, by virtue of 
 his wealth alone, drive a four-in-hand, and chat on easy and 
 almost patronizing terms with the Prince of Wales ? The 
 wealthy denizens of Snob land delight in ignoring Nature's 
 elected noblemen." 
 
 ''But supposing," said Miss Chesney quickly, ''you hap- 
 pen to be a Nature's nobleman yourself, and have the advantage 
 of wealth besides, surely you must fairly allow that to be 
 rather a good thing, mustn't you?" 
 
 Lucio laughed a little. 
 
 " I will retort upon you in your own words, fair lady, and 
 say, ' I guess you mean compliments. ' What I venture to 
 imply, however, is that even when wealth does fall to the lot 
 of one of these 'Nature's noblemen,' it is not because of his 
 innate nobility that he wins social distinction. It is simply 
 because he is rich. That is what vexes me. I, for example, 
 have endless friends who are not my friends so much as the 
 friends of my income. They do not trouble to inquire as to 
 my antecedents, — what I am, or where I came from, is of no 
 importance. Neither are they concerned in how I live or what 
 I do ; whether I am sick or well, happy or unhappy, is equally 
 with them a matter of indifference. If they knew more about 
 me, it would perhaps be better in the long run. But they do 
 not want to know, — their aims are simple and unconcealed, — 
 they wish to make as much out of me, and secure as much ad- 
 vantage to themselves by their acquaintance with me as pos- 
 sible. And I give them their full way, — they get all they 
 want, — and more !" 
 
 His musical voice lingered with a curiously melancholy im- 
 pressiveness on the last word, — and this time, not only Miss 
 Chesney, but we all, looked at him as though drawn by some 
 irresistible magnetic spell, and for a moment there was silence. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 131 
 
 "Very few people have any real friends," said Lord Elton 
 presently. "And in that respect I suppose we're none of us 
 worse off than Socrates, who used to keep two chairs only in 
 his house, — * one for myself and another for a friend — when I 
 find him !' But you are a universal favourite, Lucio, — a most 
 popular fellow, — and I think you're rather hard on your set. 
 People must look after themselves you know — eh?" 
 
 Lucio bowed his head gravely. 
 
 " They must indeed," he replied ; " especially as the latest 
 news of science is that God has given up the business." 
 
 Miss Fitzroy looked displeased, but the Earl laughed up- 
 roariously. At that moment a step was heard outside, ap- 
 proaching the open doorway of the drawing-room, and Miss 
 Chesney's quick ears caught the sound. She shook herself 
 out of her reclining attitude instantly and sat erect, 
 
 "It's Sibyl !" she said with a half-laughing, half- apologetic 
 flash of her brown eyes at us all. "I never can loll before 
 Sibyl." 
 
 My heart beat fast, as the woman whom poets might have 
 called the goddess of their dreams, but whom I was now dis- 
 posed to consider as an object of beauty lawfully open to my 
 purchase, entered, clad in simple white, unrelieved by any 
 ornaments save a golden waistbelt of antique workmanship, 
 and a knot of violets nestled among the lace at her bosom. 
 She looked far lovelier than when I had first seen her at the 
 theatre ; there was a deeper light in her eyes and a more 
 roseate flush on her cheeks, while her smile as she greeted us 
 was positively dazzling. Something in her presence, her 
 movements, her manner, sent such a tide of passion through 
 me that for a moment my brain whirled in a dizzy maze, and 
 despite the cold calculations I had made in my own mind as 
 to the certainty I had of winning her for my wife, there was a 
 wondrous charm of delicate dignity and unapproachableness 
 about her that caused me for the moment to feel ashamed, 
 and inclined to doubt even the power of wealth to move this 
 exquisite lily of maidenhood from her sequestered peace. 
 
132 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 Ah, what fools men are ! How little do we dream of the 
 canker at the hearts of these women ' lilies' that look so pure 
 and full of grace ! 
 
 * ' You are late, Sibyl ! ' ' said her aunt severely. 
 
 '' Am I?" she responded with languid indifference. " So 
 sorry ! Papa, are you an extemporized fire-screen ?' ' 
 
 Lord Elton hastily moved to one side, rendered suddenly 
 conscious of his selfish monopoly of the blaze. 
 
 ''Are you not cold Miss Chesney?" continued Lady Sibyl 
 in accents of studied courtesy. ''Would you not like to come 
 nearer the fire?" 
 
 Diana Chesney had become quite subdued, almost timid in 
 fact. 
 
 " Thank you !" she murmured, and her eyes dropped with 
 what might have been called retiring maiden modesty, had 
 not Miss Chesney's qualities soared far beyond that trite de- 
 scription. 
 
 " We heard some shocking news this morning, Mr Tempest," 
 said Lady Sibyl, looking at Lucio rather than at me. " No 
 doubt you read it in the papers : an acquaintance of ours, 
 Viscount Lynton, shot himself last night." 
 
 I could not repress a slight start. Lucio gave me a warning 
 glance, and took it upon himself to reply. 
 
 " Yes, I read a brief account of the affair — terrible indeed ! 
 I also knew him slightly." 
 
 " Did you? Well, he was engaged to a friend of mine," 
 went on Lady Sibyl. "I myself think she has had a lucky 
 escape, because though he was an agreeable man enough in 
 society, he was a great gambler, and very extravagant, and he 
 would have run through her fortune very quickly. But she 
 cannot be brought to see it in that light, — she is dreadfully 
 upset. She had set her heart on being a Viscountess." 
 
 "I guess," said Miss Chesney demurely, with a sly sparkle 
 of her eyes, "it's not only Americans who run after titles. 
 Since I've been over here I've known several real nice girls 
 marry downright mean dough-heads just for the sake of being 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 133 
 
 called ' my lady' or ' your grace. ' I like a title very well 
 myself — but I also like a man attached to it. ' ' 
 
 The Earl smothered a chuckling laugh. Lady Sibyl gazed 
 meditatively into the fire, and went on as though she had not 
 heard. 
 
 "Of course my friend will have other chances, — she is 
 young and handsome ; but I really think, apart from the 
 social point of view, that she was a little in love with the 
 Viscount " 
 
 " Nonsense ! nonsense !" said her father somewhat testily ; 
 " you always have some romantic notion or other in your head, 
 Sibyl, — one ^season' ought to have cured you of sentiment 
 — ha-ha-ha ! She always knew he was a dissolute rascal, and 
 she was going to marry him with her eyes wide open to the 
 fact. When I read in the papers that he had blown his brains 
 out in a hansom, I said, ' Bad taste, bad taste ! spoiling a 
 poor cabby's stock-in-trade to satisfy a selfish whim !' ha-ha ! 
 but I thought it was a good riddance of bad rubbish. He 
 would have made any woman's life utterly miserable." 
 
 *' No doubt he would!" responded Lady Sibyl listlessly. 
 *' But, all the same, there is such a thing as love sometimes." 
 She raised her beautiful liquid eyes to Lucio's face, but he 
 was not looking her way, and her stedfast gaze met mine 
 instead. What my looks expressed I know not ; but I saw 
 the rich blood mantle warmly in her cheeks, and a tremor 
 seemed to pass through her frame, — then she grew very pale. 
 At that moment one of the gorgeous footmen appeared at the 
 doorway. 
 
 '' Dinner is served, my lud." 
 
 " Good !" and the Earl proceeded to ' pair' us all. ^' Prince, 
 will you take Miss Fitzroy, — Mr Tempest, my daughter falls 
 to your escort, — I will follow with Miss Chesney." 
 
 We set off in this order down the stairs, and as I walked 
 behind Lucio with Lady Sibyl on my arm, I could not help 
 smiling at the extreme gravity and earnestness with which 
 he was discussing church matters with Miss Charlotte, and 
 
134 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the sudden enthusiasm that apparently seized that dignified 
 spinster at some of his remarks on the clergy, which took the 
 form of the most affectionate and respectful eulogies, and were 
 totally the reverse of the ideas he had exchanged with me on 
 the same subject. Some spirit of mischief was evidently 
 moving him to have a solemn joke with the high-bred lady 
 he escorted, and I noted his behaviour with a good deal of 
 inward amusement. 
 
 *' Then you know the dear Canon ?" I heard Miss Charlotte 
 say. 
 
 ''Most intimately!" replied Lucio with fervour; ''and I 
 assure you I am thankful to have the privilege of knowing 
 him. A truly perfect man ! — almost a saint — if not quite !" 
 
 " So pure-minded !" sighed the spinster. 
 
 " So free from every taint of hypocrisy !" murmured Lucio 
 with intense gravity. 
 
 "Ah, yes ! Yes, indeed ! And so " 
 
 Here they passed into the dining-room and I could hear 
 no more. I followed with my beautiful partner, and in another 
 minute we were all seated at table. 
 
 XII 
 
 The dinner went on in the fashion of most dinners at great 
 houses, — commencing with arctic stiffness and formality, thaw- 
 ing slightly towards the middle course, and attaining to just a 
 pleasant warmth of mutual understanding when ices and des- 
 sert give warning of its approaching close. Conversation at 
 first flagged unaccountably, but afterwards brightened under 
 Lucio's influence to a certain gaiety. I did my best to enter- 
 tain Lady Sibyl, but found her like most ' society' beauties, 
 somewhat of a vague listener. She was certainly cold, and 
 in a manner irresponsive, — moreover, I soon decided that she 
 was not particularly clever. She had not the art of sustaining 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 135 
 
 or appearing to sustain interest in any one subject ; on the 
 contrary, she had, like many of her class, an irritating habit 
 of mentally drifting away from you into an absorbed reverie 
 of her own in which you had no part, and which plainly 
 showed you how little she cared for anything you or anyone 
 else happened to be saying. Many little random remarks of 
 hers, however, implied that in her apparently sweet nature there 
 lurked a vein of cynicism and a certain contempt for men, 
 and more than once her light words stung my sense of self- 
 love almost to resentment, while they strengthened the force 
 of my resolve to win her and bend that proud spirit of hers 
 to the meekness befitting the wife of a millionaire and — a 
 genius. A genius ? Yes, — God help me ! — that is what I 
 judged myself to be. My arrogance was two-fold, — it arose 
 not only from what I imagined to be my quality of brain, but 
 also from the knowledge of what my wealth could do. I was 
 perfectly positive that I could buy Fame, — buy it as easily as 
 one buys a flower in the market, — and I was more than 
 positive that I could buy love. In order to commence 
 proving the truth of this, I threw out a * feeler' towards my 
 object. 
 
 ''I believe," I said suddenly, addressing the Earl, ''you 
 used to live in Warwickshire, at Willowsmere Court, did you 
 not?" 
 
 Lord Elton flushed an apoplectic red and swallowed a gulp 
 of champagne hastily. 
 
 " Yes-er-yes. I — er had the place for some time, — rather a 
 bore to keep up, — wants quite an army of servants." 
 
 ''Just so, " I replied with a nod of appreciative compre- 
 hension. " I presume it will require a considerable domestic 
 retinue. I have just arranged to purchase it." 
 
 Lady Sibyl's frigid composure was at last disturbed, — she 
 looked strangely agitated, — and the Earl stared till his eyes 
 seemed likely to fall out of his head. 
 
 "You? You are going to buy Willowsmere?" he ejacu- 
 lated. 
 
136 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *' Yes. I have wired to my lawyers to settle the matter as 
 quickly as possible," — and I glanced at Lucio, whose steel- 
 bright eyes were fixed on the Earl with curious intentness. 
 "I like Warwickshire, — and as I shall entertain a great deal, 
 I think the place will suit me perfectly." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Miss Charlotte Fitzroy 
 sighed deeply, and the lace bow on her severely parted hair 
 trembled visibly. Diana Chesney looked up with inquisitive 
 eyes and a little wondering smile. 
 
 ''Sibyl was born at Willowsmere," said the Earl presently 
 in rather a husky voice. 
 
 ''Anew charm is added to its possession by that know- 
 ledge," I said gently, bowing to Lady Sibyl as I spoke. 
 "Have you many recollections of the place?" 
 
 "Indeed, indeed I have!" she answered with a touch of 
 something like passion vibrating in her accents. "There is 
 no corner of the world I love so well ! I used to play on the 
 lawns under the old oak-trees, and I always gathered the 
 first violets and primroses that came out on the banks of the 
 Avon. And when the hawthorn was in full flower I used to 
 make believe that the park was fairyland and I the fairy 
 queen " 
 
 ' ' As you were and are ! ' ' interposed Lucio suddenly. 
 
 She smiled and her eyes flashed, — then she went on more 
 quietly — 
 
 " It was all very foolish, but I loved Willowsmere, and love 
 it still. And I often saw in the fields on the other side of 
 the river, which did not belong to the estate, a little girl 
 about my own age, playing all by herself and making long 
 daisy-chains and buttercup balls, — a little girl with long fair 
 curls and a sweet baby face. I wanted to know her and speak 
 to her, but my nurse would never let me because she was 
 supposed to be 'beneath' me." Lady Sibyl's lip curled 
 scornfully at this recollection. " Yet she was well-born ; she 
 was the orphan child of a very distinguished scholar and 
 gentleman, and had been adopted by the physician who 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 137 
 
 attended her mother's deathbed, she having no living rela- 
 tives left to take care of her. And she — that little fair-haired 
 girl — was Mavis Clare." 
 
 As this name was uttered, a sort of hush fell on our party 
 as though an 'Angelus' had rung, — and Lucio, looking across 
 at me with peculiar intentness, asked — 
 
 '' Have you never heard of Mavis Clare, Tempest?" 
 
 I thought a moment before replying. Yes, I had heard 
 the name, — connected with literature in some dim and dis- 
 tant way, but I could not remember when or how. For I 
 never paid any attention to the names of women who chose 
 to associate themselves with the Arts, as I had the usual mas- 
 culine notion that all they did, whether in painting, music or 
 writing, must of necessity be trash, and unworthy of com- 
 ment. Women, I loftily considered, were created to amuse 
 men, — not to instruct them. 
 
 "Mavis Clare is a marvellous genius," Lady Sibyl said 
 presently. '' If Mr Tempest has not heard of her, there is no 
 doubt he luill hear. I often regret that I never made her 
 acquaintance in those old days at Willowsmere, — the stupidity 
 of my nurse often rankles in my mind. * Beneath me' — 
 indeed ! — and how very much she is above me now ! She 
 still lives down there, — her adopted parents are dead, and 
 she rents the lovely little house they inhabited. She has 
 bought some extra land about it and improved the place won- 
 derfully. Indeed I have never seen a more ideal poet's corner 
 than Lily Cottage." 
 
 I was silent, feeling somewhat in the background on ac- 
 count of my ignorance as to the gifts and the position of the 
 individual they all seemed to recognise as a celebrity of 
 importance. 
 
 ''Rather an odd name, Mavis, isn't it?" I at last ventured 
 to observe. 
 
 "Yes, — but it suits her wonderfully. She sings quite as 
 sweetly as any thrush, so she merits her designation." 
 
 "What has she done in literature?" I continued. 
 
 12* 
 
138 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 "■ Oh, — only a novel !" replied Liicio with a smile. *' But 
 it has a quality unusual to novels ; it lives. I hope, Tempest, 
 that your forthcoming work will enjoy the same vitality." 
 
 Here Lord Elton, who had been more or less brooding darkly 
 over his glass of wine ever since I had mentioned my purchase 
 of Willowsmere, roused himself from his reverie. 
 
 ''Why, God bless my soul !" he exclaimed. ''You don't 
 mean to tell me you have written a novel, Mr Tempest ?" 
 (Was it possible he had never noticed all the prominent adver- 
 tisements of my book in every paper, I thought indignantly !) 
 "What do you want to do that for, with your immense 
 position ?' ' 
 
 "He hankers after fame!" said Lucio half kindly, half 
 satirically. 
 
 "But you've got fame!" declared the Earl, emphatically. 
 " Everybody knows who you are by this time." 
 
 "Ah, my dear lord, that is not enough for the aspirations 
 of my gifted friend," responded Lucio, speaking for me, his 
 eyes darkening with that mystic shadow of mingled sorrow 
 and scorn which so frequently clouded their lustrous brilliancy. 
 "He does not particularly care for the 'immense position' 
 that is due to wealth alone, because that does not lift him a 
 jot higher than Maple of Tottenham Court Eoad. He seeks 
 to soar beyond the furniture man, — and who shall blame him? 
 He would be known for that indescribable quality called 
 Genius,— for high thoughts, poetry, divine instincts, and pro- 
 phetic probings into the heart of humanity, — in short, for the 
 power of the Pen which topples down great kingdoms like 
 card-houses and sticks foolscaps on the heads of kings. Gen- 
 erally it is the moneyless man or woman who is endowed with 
 this unpurchasable power, — this independence of action and 
 indifference to opinion, — the wealthy seldom do anything 
 but spend or hoard. But Tempest means to unite for once 
 in his own person the two most strenuously opposed forces 
 in nature, — genius and cash, — or, in other words, God and 
 Mammon." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 139 
 
 Lady Sibyl turned her head towards me ; — there was a look 
 of doubt and wonder on her beautiful face. 
 
 " I am afraid," she said half smiling, '' that the claims of 
 society will take up too much of your time, Mr Tempest, to 
 allow you to continue the writing of books. I remember you 
 told me the other evening that you were about to publish a 
 novel. I suppose you were — originally I mean — an author by 
 profession?" 
 
 A curious sense of anger burned dully within me. ' Origi- 
 nally' an author ? Was I not one still ? Was I to be given 
 credit for nothing but my banking-book ? ' Originally' ? 
 Why, I had never been an actual ' author' till now, — I had 
 simply been a wandering literary hack, — a stray * super' of 
 Grub Street, occasionally engaged to write articles * to order' 
 on any subject that came uppermost, at a starvation rate of 
 pay, without any visible prospect of rising from that lowest 
 and dirtiest rung of the literary ladder. I felt myself growing 
 red, then pale, — and I saw that Lucio was looking at me 
 fixedly. 
 
 ** I am an author, Lady Sibyl," I said at last ; '' and I hope 
 I may soon prove my right to be acknowledged as one. 
 * Author' is, in my opinion, a prouder title than king, and I 
 do not think any social claims will deter me from following 
 the profession of literature, which I look upon as the highest 
 in the world." 
 
 Lord Elton fidgeted uneasily in his chair. 
 
 "But your people," he said, — **your family— are they 
 literary ?' ' 
 
 "No members of my family are now living," I answered 
 somewhat stiffly. "My father was John Tempest of Rex- 
 moor." 
 
 "Indeed!" and the Earl's face brightened considerably. 
 " Dear me, dear me ! I used to meet him often in the hunt- 
 ing field years ago. You come of a fine old stock, sir ! — the 
 Tempests of Rexmoor are well and honourably known in county 
 chronicles." 
 
I40 TPIE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 I said nothing, feeling a trifle heated in temper, though I 
 could not have quite explained why. 
 
 "One begins to wonder," said Lucio then, in his soft 
 smooth accents, '* when one is the descendant of a good 
 English county family, — a distinct cause for pride ! — and 
 moreover has the still more substantial fact of a large fortune 
 to support that high lineage, why one should trouble to fight 
 for merely literary honours ! You are far too modest in your 
 ambitions. Tempest ! — high-seated as you are upon bank-notes 
 and bullion, with all the glory of effulgent county chronicles 
 behind you, you still stoop to clutch the laurel ! Fie, my 
 dear fellow ! You degrade yourself by this desire to join the 
 company of the immortals !" 
 
 His satirical tone was not lost upon the company ; and I, 
 who saw that in his own special way he was defending the 
 claims of literature against those of mere place and money, 
 felt soothed and grateful. The Earl looked a trifle annoyed. 
 
 "That's all very fine," he said. "But you see it isn't as 
 if Mr Tempest were driven by necessity to write for his 
 living — " 
 
 " One may love work for the work's sake without any actual 
 necessity for doing it," I interposed. "For example, — this 
 Mavis Clare you speak of, — is she — a woman — driven by 
 necessity?" 
 
 " Mavis Clare hasn't a penny in the world that she does not 
 earn," said Lord Elton gruffly. "I suppose that if she did 
 not write she would starve." 
 
 Diana Chesney laughed. 
 
 "I guess she's a long way off starvation just now," she 
 remarked, her brown eyes twinkling. " Why, she's as proud 
 as the proudest, — drives in the Park in her victoria and pair 
 with the best in the land, and knows all the ' swagger' people. 
 She's nowhere near Grub Street, / should say. I hear she's a 
 splendid business woman and more than a match for the pub- 
 lishers all round." 
 
 "Well I should rather doubt that," said the Earl with a 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 141 
 
 chuckle. ''It needs the devil himself to match the pub- 
 lishers." 
 
 ''You are right," said Lucio. "In fact, I daresay that in 
 the various ' phases' or transmigrations of the spirit into differ- 
 ing forms of earthy matter, the devil (should he exist at all) 
 has frequently become a publisher, — and a particularly benev- 
 olent publisher too ! — by way of diversion." 
 
 We all smiled. 
 
 " Well, I should imagine Mavis Clare to be a match for 
 anybody or anything," said Lady Sibyl. "Of course she is 
 not rich, — but she spends her money wisely and to effective 
 advantage. I do not know her personally, — I wish I did ; 
 but I have read her books, which are quite out of the common. 
 She is a most independent creature too ; quite indifferent to 
 opinions." 
 
 ' ' I suppose she must be extremely plain then, ' ' I observed. 
 " Plain women always try to do something more or less 
 startling in order to attract the attention denied to their 
 personality. ' ' 
 
 " True, — but that would not apply to Miss Clare. She is 
 quite lovely, and knows how to dress besides." 
 
 ^^ Such a virtue in literary women !" exclaimed Diana Ches- 
 ney. " Some of them are such dowdies !" 
 
 "Most people of culture," went on Lady Sibyl — "in our 
 set at any rate — are accustomed to look upon Miss Clare as 
 quite an exception to the usual run of authors. She is charm- 
 ing in herself as well as in her books, and she goes every- 
 where. She writes with inspiration, — and always has some- 
 thing so new to say — " 
 
 " That of course all the critics are down upon her ?' ' queried 
 Lucio. 
 
 " Oh, naturally ! But we never read reviews." 
 
 " Nor anyone else I should hope," said Lord Elton with a 
 laugh — " except the fellows who write them, ha — ha — ha ! I 
 call it damned impertinence — excuse the word— on the part 
 of a newspaper hack to presume to teach me what I ought to 
 
142 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 read, or what I ought to appreciate. I'm quite capable of 
 forming my own judgment on any book that ever was written. 
 But I avoid all the confounded ' new' poets, — avoid 'em like 
 poison, sir — ha — ha ! Anything but a ' new' poet ; the old 
 ones are good enough for me. Why, sir, these reviewers who 
 give themselves such airs with a pennorth of ink and a pen, 
 are mostly half-grown, half-educated boys who for a couple of 
 guineas a week undertake to tell the public what they think of 
 such and such a book, as if anyone cared a jot about their 
 green opinions ! Ridiculous — quite ridiculous ! — what do 
 they take the public for, I wonder ! Editors of responsible 
 journals ought to know better than to employ such young 
 coxcombs just because they can get them cheap " 
 
 At this juncture the butler came up behind his master's 
 chair and whispered a few words. The Earl's brow clouded, 
 — then he addressed his sister-in-law, — 
 
 " Charlotte, Lady Elton sends word that she will come into 
 the drawing-room to-night. Perhaps you had better go and 
 see that she is made comfortable." And, as Miss Charlotte 
 rose, he turned to us saying, '' My wife is seldom well enough 
 to see visitors, but this evening she feels inclined for a little 
 change and distraction from the monotony of her sick-room. 
 It will be very kind of you two gentlemen 'to entertain her, — 
 she cannot speak much, but her hearing and sight are excel- 
 lent, and she takes great interest in all that is going on. Dear, 
 dear me !" and he heaved a short troubled sigh — '' She used 
 to be one of the brightest of women !" 
 
 *'The sweet Countess!" murmured Miss Chesney with 
 patronizing tenderness. '' She is quite lovely still !" 
 
 Lady Sibyl glanced at her with a sudden haughty frown 
 which showed me plainly what a rebellious temper the young 
 beauty held in control ; and I fell straightway more in love — 
 according to my idea of love — than ever. I confess I like a 
 woman to have a certain amount of temper. I cannot endure 
 your preternaturally amiable female, who can find nothing in 
 all the length or breadth of the globe to move her to any other 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 143 
 
 expression than a fatuous smile. I love to see the danger-flash 
 in bright eyes, the delicate quiver of pride in the lines of a 
 lovely mouth, and the warm flush of indignation on fair cheeks. 
 It all suggests spirit, and untamed will ; and rouses in a man 
 the love of mastery that is born in his nature, urging him to 
 conquer and subdue that which seems unconquerable. And 
 all the desire of such conquest was strong within me, when at 
 the close of dinner I rose and held the door open for the ladies 
 to pass out of the room. As the fair Sibyl went, the violets 
 she wore at her bosom dropped. I picked them up and made 
 my first move. 
 
 '' May I keep these?" I said in a low tone. 
 
 Her breath came and went quickly, — but she looked straight 
 in my eyes with a smile that perfectly comprehended my hidden 
 meaning. 
 
 " You may !" she answered. 
 
 I bowed, closed the door behind her, and, secreting the 
 flowers, returned, well-satisfied, to my place at table. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Left with myself and Lucio, Lord Elton threw off all re- 
 serve, and became not only familiar, but fawning in his adula- 
 tion of us both. An abject and pitiable desire to please and 
 propitiate us expressed itself in his every look and word ; and 
 I firmly believe that if I had coolly and brutally offered to buy 
 his fair daughter by private treaty for a hundred thousand 
 pounds, that sum to be paid down to him on the day of mar- 
 riage, he would have gladly agreed to sell. Apart, however, 
 from his personal covetousness, I felt and knew that my pro- 
 jected courtship of Lady Sibyl would of necessity resolve 
 itself into something more or less of a market bargain, unless 
 indeed I could win the girl's love. I meant to try and do this, 
 but I fully realized how difficult, nay, almost impossible it 
 
144 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 would be for her to forget the fact of my unhampered and vast 
 fortune, and consider me for myself alone. Herein is one of 
 the blessings of poverty which the poor are frequently too ajjt 
 to forget. A moneyless man if he wins a woman's love, 
 knows that such love is genuine and untainted by self-interest ^ 
 but a rich man can never be truly certain of love at all. The 
 advantages of a wealthy match are constantly urged upon all 
 marriageable girls by both their parents and friends, — and it 
 would have to be a very unsophisticated feminine nature indeed 
 that could contemplate a husband possessing five millions of 
 money, without a touch of purely interested satisfaction. A 
 very wealthy man can never be sure even of friendship, — while 
 the highest, strongest and noblest kind of love is nearly always 
 denied to him, in this way carrying out the fulfilment of those 
 strange but true words, — " How hardly shall he that is a rich 
 man enter the Kingdom of Heaven!" The heaven of a 
 woman's love, tried and proved true through disaster and dif- 
 ficulty, — of her unflinching faithfulness and devotion in days 
 of toil and bitter anguish, — of her heroic self-abnegation, 
 sweetness and courage through the darkest hours of doubt 
 and disappointment ; — this bright and splendid side of 
 woman's character is reserved by Divine ordinance for the 
 poor man. The millionaire can indeed wed whomsoever he 
 pleases among all the beauties of the world, — he can deck his 
 wife in gorgeous apparel, load her with jewels and look upon 
 her in all the radiance of her richly-adorned loveliness as one 
 may look upon a perfect statue or matchless picture, — but he 
 can never reach the deeper secrets of her soul or probe the 
 well-springs of her finer nature. I thought this even thus early 
 in the beginning of my admiration for Lady Sibyl Elton, 
 though I did not then dwell upon it as I have often done since. 
 I was too elated with the pride of wealth to count the possi- 
 bilities of subtle losses amid so many solid gains; and I en- 
 joyed to the full and with a somewhat contemptuous malice 
 the humble prostration of a ' belted Earl' before the dazzling 
 mine of practically unlimited cash as represented to him in 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 145 
 
 the persons of my brilliant comrade and myself. I took a 
 curious sort of pleasure in patronizing him, and addressed him 
 with a protecting air of indulgent kindness, whereat he seemed 
 gratified. Inwardly I laughed, as I thought how differently 
 matters would have stood supposing I had been indeed no 
 more than ' author' ! I might have proved to be one of the 
 greatest writers of the age, but if, with that, I had been poor 
 or only moderately well off, this same half bankrupt Earl, who 
 privately boarded an American heiress for two thousand guineas 
 a year, would have deemed it a ' condescension' to so much as 
 invite me to his house, — would have looked down upon me 
 from his titled nothingness and perhaps carelessly alluded to 
 me as ' a man who writes — er — yes — er — rather clever I be- 
 lieve !' and then would have thought no more about me. For 
 this very cause as ' author' still, though millionaire, I took a 
 fantastic pleasure in humiliating his lordship as much as possi- 
 ble, and I found the best w^ay to do this was to talk about 
 Willowsmere. I saw that he winced at the very name of his 
 lost estate, and that notwithstanding this, he could not avoid 
 showing his anxiety as to my intentions with regard to its oc- 
 cupation. Lucio, whose wisdom and foresight had suggested 
 my becoming the purchaser of the place, assisted me in the 
 moist adroit fashion to draw him out, and to make his charac- 
 ter manifest, and by the time we had finished our cigars and 
 coffee, I knew that the * proud' Earl of Elton, who could trace 
 his lineage to the earliest days of the Crusaders, was as ready 
 to bend his back and crawl in the dust for money as the veriest 
 hotel porter expectant of a sovereign ' tip.' I had never en- 
 tertained a high opinion of the aristocracy, and on this occa- 
 sion it was certainly not improved, but remembering that the 
 spendthrift nobleman beside me was the father of Lady Sibyl, 
 I treated him on the whole with more respect than his mean 
 and grasping nature deserved. 
 
 On returning to the drawing-room after dinner I was struck 
 by the chill weirdness that seemed to be imparted to it by the 
 addition of Lady Elton's couch, which, placed near the fire, 
 G k 13 
 
146 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 suggested a black sarcophagus in bulk and outline. It was 
 practically a narrow bed on wheels, though partially disguised 
 by a silk coverlet draped skilfully so as to somewhat hide its 
 coffin-like shape. The extended figure of the paralyzed 
 Countess herself presented a death-like rigidity ; but her face, 
 as she turned it towards us on our entrance, was undisfigured 
 as yet, and distinctly handsome, her eyes especially being 
 large, clear and almost brilliant. Her daughter introduced us 
 both in a low tone, and she moved her head slightly by way 
 of acknowledgment, studying us curiously the while. 
 
 ''Well, my dear," said Lord Elton briskly, "this is an 
 unexpected pleasure ! it is nearly three months since you 
 honoured us with your company. How do you feel?" 
 
 ''Better," she replied slowly, yet distinctly, her gaze now 
 fixed with wondering intentness on Prince Rimanez. 
 
 "Mother found the room rather cold," explained Lady 
 Sibyl ; "so we brought her as near to the fire as possible. It 
 z> cold," — and she shivered; — "I fancy it must be freezing 
 hard." 
 
 " Where is Diana?" asked the Earl, looking about in search 
 of that lively young lady. 
 
 "Miss Chesney has gone to her own room to write a letter," 
 replied his daughter somewhat frigidly. " She will be back 
 directly." 
 
 At this moment Lady Elton feebly raised her hand, and 
 pointed to Lucio, who had moved aside to answer some ques- 
 tion asked of him by Miss Charlotte. 
 
 "Who is that?" she murmured. 
 
 "Why, mother dear, I told you," said Lady Sibyl gently. 
 "That is Prince Lucio Rimanez, Papa's great friend." 
 
 The Countess's pallid hand still remained lifted, as though 
 it were frozen in air. 
 
 '•^WJiat is he?" the slow voice again inquired, — and then 
 the hand dropped suddenly like a dead thing. 
 
 "Now, Helena, you must not excite yourself," said her 
 husband, bending over her couch with real or assumed 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 147 
 
 anxiety. *' Surely you remember all I have told you about 
 the prince? And also about this gentleman, Mr Geoffrey 
 Tempest?" 
 
 She nodded, and her eyes, turning reluctantly away from 
 Rimamez, regarded me fixedly. 
 
 **You are a very young man to be a millionaire," were 
 her next words, uttered with evident difficulty. ''Are you 
 married ?' ' 
 
 I smiled, and answered in the negative. Her looks wan- 
 dered from me to her daughter's face, — then back to me again 
 with a singularly intent expression. Finally, the potent mag- 
 netism of Lucio's presence again attracted her, and she 
 indicated him by a gesture. 
 
 "Ask your friend ... to come here . . . and speak to 
 me." 
 
 Rimanez turned instinctively at her request, and with his 
 own peculiar charm and gallant grace of bearing, came to the 
 side of the paralyzed lady, and taking her hand, kissed it. 
 
 "Your face seems familiar to me," she said, speaking 
 now, as it seemed, with greater ease. " Have I ever met you 
 before ?' ' 
 
 " Dear lady, you may have done so," he replied in dulcet 
 tones and with a most captivating gentleness of manner. " It 
 occurs to me, now I think of it, that years ago I saw once, as 
 a passing vision of loveliness, in the hey-day of youth and hap- 
 piness, Helena Fitzroy, before she was Countess of Elton." 
 
 " You must have been a mere boy — a child — at that time !" 
 she murmured, faintly smiling. 
 
 " Not so ! — for you are still young, Madame, and I am old. 
 You look incredulous ? Alas, why is it, I wonder, I may not 
 look the age I am ! Most of my acquaintances spend a great 
 part of their lives in trying to look the age they are not ; and 
 I never came across a man of fifty who was not proud to be 
 considered thirty-nine. My desires are more laudable, — yet 
 honourable eld refuses to impress itself upon my features. It 
 is quite a sore point with me I assure you." 
 
148 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 " Well, how old are you really?" asked Lady Sibyl, smiling 
 at him. 
 
 '*Ah, I dare not tell you!" he answered, returning the 
 smile. '' But I ought to explain that in my countings I judge 
 age by the workings of thought and feeling, more than by the 
 passing of years. Thus it should not surprise you to hear that 
 I feel myself old, — old as the world !" 
 
 " But there are scientists who say that the world is young," 
 I observed, ''and that it is only now beginning to feel its 
 forces and put forth its vigour." 
 
 "Such optimistic wiseacres are wrong," he answered. 
 " The world is a veritable husk of a planet ; humanity has 
 nearly completed all its allotted phases, and the end is 
 near. ' ' 
 
 "The end?" echoed Lady Sibyl. " Do you believe the 
 world will ever come to an end ?" 
 
 " I do, most certainly. Or, to be more correct, it will not 
 actually perish, but will simply change. And the change will 
 not agree with the constitution of its present inhabitants. 
 They will call the transformation the Day of Judgment. I 
 should imagine it would be a fine sight," 
 
 The Countess gazed at him wonderingly, — Lady Sibyl 
 seemed amused. 
 
 "I would rather not witness it," said Lord Elton gruffly. 
 
 "Oh, why?" and Rimanez looked about with quite a 
 cheerful air. " A final glimpse of the planet ere we ascend or 
 ^<:'scend to our future homes elsewhere, would be something to 
 remember! Madame," — here he addressed Lady Elton, — 
 "are you fond of music?" 
 
 The invalid smiled gratefully, and bent her head in acqui- 
 escence. Miss Chesney had just entered the room and heard 
 the question. 
 
 " Do you play?" she exclaimed vivaciously, touching him 
 on the arm with her fan. 
 
 He bowed. " I do, — in an erratic sort of fashion. I also 
 sing. Music has always been one of my passions. When I 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 149 
 
 was very young, — ages ago, — I used to imagine I could hear 
 the angel Israfel chanting his strophes amid the golden glow 
 of heavenly glory, — himself white-winged and wonderful, 
 with a voice out-ringing beyond the verge of paradise." 
 
 As he spoke, a sudden silence fell upon us all. Something 
 in his accent touched my heart to a strange sense of sorrow 
 and yearning, and the Countess of Elton's dark eyes, lan- 
 guid with long suffering, grew soft as though with repressed 
 tears. 
 
 "Sometimes," he continued more lightly — ''just at odd 
 moments — I like to believe in Paradise. It is a relief, even 
 to a hardened sinner like myself, to fancy that there may exist 
 something in the way of a world better than this one." 
 
 ''Surely sir," said Miss Charlotte Fitzroy severely, "you 
 believe in Heaven?" 
 
 He looked at her, and smiled slightly. 
 
 " Madame, forgive me ! I do not believe in the clerical 
 heaven. I know you will be angry with me for this frank 
 confession ! But I cannot picture the angels in white smocks 
 with goose wings, or the Deity as a somewhat excitable per- 
 sonage with a beard. Personally I should decline to go to 
 any heaven which was only a city with golden streets ; and I 
 should object to a sea of glass, resenting it as a want of in- 
 vention on the part of the creative Intelligence. But — do 
 not frown, dear Miss Fitzroy ! — I do believe in Heaven all the 
 same, — a different kind of heaven, — I often see it in my 
 dreams ! ' ' 
 
 He paused, and again we were all silent, gazing at him. 
 Lady Sibyl's eyes, indeed, rested upon him with such ab- 
 sorbed interest, that I became somewhat irritated, and was 
 glad when, turning towards the Countess once more, he said 
 quietly — 
 
 " Shall I give you some music now, Madame?" 
 
 She murmured assent, and followed him with a vaguely 
 uneasy glance as he crossed over to the grand piano and sat 
 down. I had never heard him either play or sing; in fact, 
 
 13* 
 
ISO THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 so far as his accomplishments went I knew nothing of him as 
 yet, except that he was a perfect master of the art of horse- 
 manship. With the first few bars he struck I half started from 
 my chair in amazement ; — could a mere pianoforte produce 
 such sounds? — or was there some witchery hidden in the 
 commonplace instrument, unguessed by any other performer ? 
 I stared around me, bewildered, — I saw Miss Charlotte drop 
 her knitting abstractedly, — Diana Chesney, lying lazily back 
 in one corner of the sofa, half closed her eyelids in dreamy 
 ecstasy, — Lord Elton stood near the fire resting one arm on 
 the mantelpiece, and shading his fuzzy brows with his hand, — 
 and Lady Sibyl sat beside her mother, her lovely face pale 
 with emotion, while on the worn features of the invalided lady 
 there was an expression of mingled pain and pleasure difficult 
 to describe. The music swelled into ])assionate cadence, — 
 melodies crossed and re -crossed each other like rays of light 
 glittering among green leaves, — voices of birds and streams 
 and tossing waterfalls chimed in with songs of love and play- 
 ful merriment ; — anon came wilder strains of grief and angry 
 clamour ; cries of despair were heard echoing through the 
 thunderous noise of some relentless storm, — farewells ever- 
 lastingly shrieked amid sobs of reluctant shuddering agony ; — 
 and then, as I listened, before my eyes a black mist gathered 
 slowly, and I thought I saw great rocks bursting asunder into 
 flame, and drifting islands in a sea of fire, — faces, wonderful, 
 hideous, beautiful, peered at me out of darkness denser than 
 night, and in the midst of this there came a tune, complete in 
 sweetness and suggestion, — a piercing sword-like tune that 
 plunged into my very heart and rankled there; — my breath 
 failed me, — my senses swam, — I felt that I must move, speak, 
 cry out, and implore that this music, this horribly insidious 
 music should cease ere I swooned with the voluptuous poison 
 of it, — when, with a full chord of splendid harmony that rolled 
 out upon the air like a breaking wave, the intoxicating sounds 
 ebbed away into silence. No one spoke, — our hearts were 
 yet beating too wildly with the pulsations roused by that 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 151 
 
 wondrous lyric storm. Diana Chesney was the first to break 
 the spell. 
 
 ''Well, that beats everything I've ever heard!" she mur- 
 mured tremulously. 
 
 I could say nothing, — I was too occupied with my own 
 thoughts. Something in the music had instilled itself into 
 my blood, or so I fancied, and the clinging subtle sweetness 
 of it, moved me to strange emotions that were neither wise 
 nor worthy of a man. I looked at Lady Sibyl ; she was very 
 pale, — her eyes were cast down and her hands were trembling. 
 On a sudden impulse I rose, and went to Rimanez, where he 
 still sat at the piano, his hands dumbly wandering over the 
 keys. 
 
 *'You are a great master," I said, — ''a wonderful per- 
 former ! But do you know what your music suggests?" 
 
 He met my fixed gaze, shrugged his shoulders, and shook 
 his head. 
 
 ''Crime!" I whispered. "You have roused in me evil 
 thoughts of which I am ashamed. I did not think that was 
 possible to so divine an Art. ' ' 
 
 He smiled, and his eyes glittered with the steely brightness 
 of stars on a wintry night. 
 
 "Art takes its colours from the mind, my dear friend," 
 he said. " If you discover evil suggestions in my music, the 
 evil, I fear, must be in your own nature." 
 
 "Or in yours !" I said quickly. 
 
 " Or in mine," he agreed coldly. "I have often told you 
 I am no saint." 
 
 I stood hesitatingly, looking at him. For one moment his 
 great personal beauty appeared hateful to me, though I knew 
 not why. Then the feeling of distrust and repulsion slowly 
 passed, leaving me humiliated and abashed, 
 
 "Pardon me, Lucio !" I murmured regretfully, — "I spoke 
 in haste ; but truly your music almost put me in a state of 
 frenzy. I never heard anything in the least like it " 
 
 "Nor I," said Lady Sibyl, who just then moved towards 
 
152 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the piano. "It was marvellous! Do you know it quite 
 frightened me?" 
 
 '' I am sorry !" he answered, with a penitent air. " I know 
 I am quite a failure as a pianist. I am not sufficiently ' re- 
 strained,' as the press men would say." 
 
 *' A failure? Good God!" exclaimed Lord Elton at this 
 juncture. "Why, if you played like that in public, you'd 
 drive everyone frantic !" 
 
 "With alarm?" queried Lucio, laughing, "or with dis- 
 gust?" 
 
 "Nonsense! you know what I mean very well. I have 
 always had a contempt for the piano as an instrument, but 
 by Jove ! I never heard such music as yours even in a full 
 orchestra. It is extraordinary ! — it is positively magnificent ! 
 Where in the world did you study ?' ' 
 
 "In Nature's conservatoire," replied Rimanez lazily. 
 "My first 'maestro' was an amiable nightingale. He, 
 singing on a branch of fir when the moon was full, 
 explained with liquid-noted patience, how to construct 
 and produce a pure roulade, cadenza and trill, — and 
 when I had learned thus far, he showed me all the most 
 elaborate methods of applying rhythmic tune to the upward 
 and downward rush of the wind, thus supplying me with 
 perfect counterpoint. > Chords I learned from old Neptune, 
 who was good enough to toss a few of his largest billows to 
 the shore for my special benefit. He nearly deafened me 
 with his instructions, being somewhat excitable and loud- 
 voiced, — but on finding me an apt pupil, he drew back his 
 waves to himself with so much delicacy among the pebbles 
 and sand, that at once I mastered the secret of playing 
 ai'peggi. Once too I had a finishing lesson from a Dream, 
 — a mystic thing with wild hair and wings ; it sang one word 
 in my ears, and the word was unpronounceable in mortal 
 speech, — but after many efforts I discovered it lurking in the 
 scale of sound. The best part of it all was that my instructors 
 asked no fees." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 153 
 
 "I think you are a poet as well as a musician," said 
 Lady Sibyl. 
 
 *' A poet ! Spare me !— my dear young lady, why are you 
 so cruel as to load me with so vile an imputation ! Better be 
 a murderer than a poet, — one is treated with much more 
 respect and courteous consideration, — by the press at any 
 rate. The murderer's breakfast-menu will be given due 
 place in many of the most estimable journals, but the 
 poet's lack of both breakfast and dinner will be deemed his 
 fitting reward. Call me a live-stock producer, a horse- 
 breeder, a timber-merchant, — anything but a poet ! Why 
 even Tennyson became an amateur milkman to somewhat con- 
 ceal and excuse the shame and degradation of writing verse ! ' ' 
 
 We all laughed. 
 
 " Well, you must admit," said Lord Elton, " that we've had 
 rather too much of poets lately. It's no wonder we're sick 
 of them, and that poetry has fallen into disrepute. Poets 
 are such a quarrelsome lot ton — effeminate, puling, unmanly 
 humbugs ! ' ' 
 
 ''You are speaking of the newly 'discovered' ones of 
 course," said Lucio. "Yes, they are a weedy collection. I 
 have sometimes thought that out of pure philanthropy I 
 would start a bon-bon manufactory, and employ them to 
 write mottoes for the crackers. It would keep them out of 
 mischief and provide them with a little pocket-money, for as 
 matters stand they do not make a farthing by their books. 
 But I do not call them ' poets' at all, — they are mere 
 rhymers. One or two real poets do exist, but, like the 
 prophets of Scripture, they are not 'in society,' nor can they 
 get their logs rolled by any of their contemporaries. They 
 are not favourites with any " set' ; that is why I am afraid my 
 dear friend Tempest will never be accepted as the genius he 
 is ; society will be too fond of him to let him go down into 
 dust and ashes to gather the laurel." 
 
 "It is not necessary to go down into dust and ashes for 
 that," I said. 
 
154 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 "I assure you it is!" he answered gaily, — '^positively 
 imperative. The laurel flourishes best so, — it will not grow 
 in a hot-house." 
 
 At that moment Diana Chesney approached. 
 
 "Lady Elton would like to hear you sing, prince," she 
 said, ''Will you give us that pleasure? Do! Something 
 quite simple, you know, — it will set our nerves straight after 
 your terribly beautiful music ! You'd hardly believe it per- 
 haps, but I really feel quite unstrung ! ' ' 
 
 He folded his hands with a droll air of penitence. 
 
 " Forgive me !" he said. "I'm always, as the church service 
 says, doing those things I ought not to do." 
 
 Miss Chesney laughed, a trifle nervously. 
 
 " Oh, I forgive you !" she replied — " on condition that you 
 sing." 
 
 " I obey !" and with that he turned again to the piano and, 
 playing a strange wild minor accompaniment, sang the fol- 
 lowing stanzas : 
 
 Sleep, my Beloved, sleep! 
 
 Be patient ! — we shall keep 
 
 Our secret closely hid 
 
 Beneath the coffin-lid, — 
 There is no other place in earth or air 
 For such a love as ours, or such despair! 
 And neither hell nor heaven shall care to win 
 Our loathed souls, rejoicing in their sin! 
 
 Sleep ! — for my hand is sure, — 
 
 The cold steel bright and pure 
 
 Strikes through thy heart and mine, 
 
 Shedding our blood like wine ; — 
 Sin's sweetness is too sweet, and if the shame 
 Of love must be our curse, we hurl the blame 
 Back on the gods who gave us love with breath, 
 And tortured us from passion into death ! 
 
 This extraordinary song, sung in the most glorious of 
 baritones, full and rich, and vibrating with power and sweet- 
 ness, had a visibly thrilling effect upon us all. Again we were 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 155 
 
 struck dumb with surprise and something like fear, — and again 
 Diana Chesney broke the silence. 
 
 " You call that simple !" she said, half petulantly. 
 
 *' Quite so. Love and Death are the simplest things in the 
 world," replied Lucio. "The ballad is a mere trifle, — it is 
 entitled 'The Last Love-Song,' and is supposed to be the 
 utterance of a lover about to kill his mistress and himself. 
 Such events happen every day, — you know that by the news- 
 papers, — they are perfectly common-place " 
 
 He was interrupted by a sharp clear voice ringing impera- 
 tively across the room — 
 
 '' Where did you learn that song?" 
 
 XIV 
 
 It was the paralyzed Countess who spoke. She had man- 
 aged to partly raise herself on her couch, and her face ex- 
 pressed positive terror. Her husband hurried to her side, — 
 and, with a curiously cynical smile on his lips, Rimanez rose 
 from the piano. Miss Charlotte, who had sat rigidly upright 
 and silent for some time, hastened to attend upon her sister, 
 but Lady Elton was singularly excited, and appeared to have 
 gained a sudden access of unnatural vigour. 
 
 " Go away, — I'm not ill," she said impatiently. *' I feel 
 better, — much better than I have done for months. The 
 music does me good." And addressing her husband, she 
 added, "Ask your friend to come and sit here by me, — I 
 want to talk to him. He has a magnificent voice, — and — 
 I know that song he sang, — I remember reading it — in a 
 manuscript album — long ago. I want to know where he 
 found it." 
 
 Rimanez here advanced with his gentle tread and courteous 
 bearing, and Lord Elton gave him a chair beside the invalid. 
 
 "You are working miracles on my wife," he said. "I 
 have not seen her so animated for years." 
 
156 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 And leaving the two to talk, he crossed over to where Lady 
 Sibyl, myself, and Miss Chesney, were all seated in a group, 
 chatting more or less unrestrainedly. 
 
 " I have just been expressing the hope that you and your 
 daughter will pay me a visit at Willowsmere, Lord Elton," I 
 said. 
 
 His brows contracted a little, but he forced a smile. *' We 
 shall be delighted," he mumbled. ''When do you take 
 possession ?' ' 
 
 "As soon as it is at all feasible," I replied. " I shall wait 
 in town till the next Levee is over, as both my friend and 
 myself have arranged to be presented." 
 
 **0h — ah — yes! — er — yes! That is always advisable. 
 And it's not half such a troublesome business as a Drawing- 
 room is for the ladies. It's soon over, — and low bodices are 
 not de rigeiir — ha — ha — ha? Who is your presenter?" 
 
 I named a distinguished personage, closely connected with 
 the Court, and the Earl nodded. 
 
 "A very good man, — you could not have a better," he 
 said complacently. '' And this book of yours, — when does it 
 come out ?' ' 
 
 "Next week." 
 
 "We must get it, — we must certainly get it," said Lord 
 Elton, assuming interest. — " Sybil, you must put it down on 
 your library list." 
 
 She assented, though, as I thought a trifle indifferently. 
 
 " On the contrary you must allow me to present it to you," 
 I said. " It will be a pleasure to me which I hope you will 
 not deny." 
 
 " You are very kind," she answered, lifting her beautiful 
 eyes to mine as she spoke; "but the librarian at Mudie's is 
 sure to send it — he knows I read everything. Though I con- 
 fess I never buy any books except those by Mavis Clare." 
 
 Again that woman's name 1 I felt annoyed, but took care 
 not to show my annoyance. 
 
 " I shall be jealous of Mavis Clare," I said playfully. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 157 
 
 *' Most men are !" she replied quietly. 
 
 ''You are indeed an enthusiastic partisan of hers !" I ex- 
 claimed, somewhat surprised. 
 
 ''Yes, I suppose I am. I like to see any member of my 
 sex distinguish herself as nobly as she does. I have no genius 
 of my own, and that is one of the reasons why I honour it so 
 much in other women." 
 
 I was about to make some suitable compliment by way of 
 response to this remark, when we were all violently startled 
 from our seats by a most horrible cry, — a gasping scream, such 
 as might be wrung from some tortured animal. Aghast at 
 the sound we stood for a moment inert, staring at Rimanez, 
 who came quickly towards us with an air of grave con- 
 cern. 
 
 '*I am afraid," he said softly, " that the Countess is not so 
 well, — perhaps you had better go to her — " 
 
 Another shriek interrupted his words, and, transfixed with 
 horror, we saw Lady Elton struggling in the throes of some 
 sudden and terrific convulsion, her hands beating the air as if 
 she were fighting w^ith an unseen enemy. In one second her 
 face underwent such hideous contortions as robbed it of all 
 human semblance, and between the agonized pantings of her 
 difficult breath, her half-choked voice could be heard uttering 
 wdld cries — 
 
 " Mercy !— mercy !— oh God !— God ! Tell Sibyl !— pray 
 — pray to God, — pray " 
 
 And with that she fell heavily back, speechless and uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 All was instant confusion. Lady Sibyl rushed to her 
 mother's side, with Miss Charlotte, — Diana Chesney hung 
 back trembling and afraid, — Lord Elton sprang to the bell 
 and rang it furiously. 
 
 "Fetch the doctor!" he cried to the startled servant. 
 "Lady Elton has had another shock ! She must be taken to 
 her room at once." 
 
 " Can I be of any service?" I inquired, with a side glance 
 
 14 
 
158 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 at Rimanez, who stood gravely apart, a statuesquely composed 
 figure of silence. 
 
 " No, no, — thanks all the same !" and the Earl pressed my 
 hand gratefully. " She should not have come downstairs, — it 
 has been too exciting for her. Sibyl, don't look at her, my 
 dear — it will only unnerve you. — Miss Chesney, pray go to 
 your room, — Charlotte can do all that is possible " 
 
 As he spoke, two of the men-servants came in to carry the 
 insensible Countess upstairs, — and as they slowly bore her 
 on her coffin-like couch past me, one of them drew the cover- 
 let across her face to conceal it. But not so quickly that I 
 could not see the awful change impressed upon it, — the in- 
 delible horror that was stamped on the drawn features, — 
 horror such as surely never was seen except in a painter's idea 
 of some lost soul in torment. The eyes were rolled up and 
 fixed in their sockets like balls of glass, and in them also was 
 frozen the same frenzied desperate look of fear. It was a 
 dreadful face ! — so dreadful in its ghastly immovableness, that 
 I was all at once reminded of my hideous vision of the pre- 
 vious night, and the pallid countenances of the three phantoms 
 that had scared me in my sleep. Lady Elton's looks now 
 resembled theirs ! Sickened and appalled, I averted my eyes, 
 and was glad to see Rimanez taking farewell of his host, the 
 while he expressed his regret and sympathy wdth him in his 
 domestic affliction. I myself, approaching Lady Sibyl, 
 pressed her cold and trembling hand in mine, and respect- 
 fully kissed it. 
 
 ''I am deeply sorry!" I murmured. "1 wish I could do 
 anything to console you. ' ' 
 
 She looked at me with dry calm eyes. 
 
 " Thank you. But the doctors have always said that my 
 mother would have another shock depriving her of speech. 
 It is very sad ; she will probably live for some years like that." 
 
 I again expressed my sympathy. 
 
 ''May I come and inquire about you all to-morrow?" I 
 asked. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 159 
 
 *'It will be very kind of you," she answered quietly. 
 
 " Shall I see you if I come?" I said in a lower tone. 
 
 *'If you wish it, — certainly !" 
 
 Our eyes met ; and I knew by instinct that she read my 
 thoughts. I pressed her hand again, and was not repulsed ; 
 then bowing profoundly, I left her to make my adieux to 
 Lord Elton and Miss Chesney, who seemed terribly upset 
 and frightened. Miss Charlotte Fitzroy had left the room in 
 attendance on her sister, and she did not return to bid us 
 good-night. Rimanez lingered a moment behind me to say 
 another word or two to the Earl, and when he joined me in 
 the hall and threw on his opera-coat, he was smiling to him- 
 self somewhat singularly. 
 
 ''An unpleasant end for Helena, Countess of Elton," he 
 said, when we were in our brougham, driving away. " Paraly- 
 sis is perhaps the worst of all the physical punishments that 
 can befall a ' rapid' lady." 
 
 ''Was she 'rapid' ?" 
 
 " Well, — perhaps ' rapid' is too mild a term, but I can find 
 no other," he answered. "When she was young, — she is 
 barely fifty now, — she did everything that could be done by 
 woman at her worst and wildest. She had scores of lovers, 
 — and I believe one of them cleared off her husband's turf- 
 debts, — the Earl consenting gladly, — on a rather pressing 
 occasion." 
 
 " What disgraceful conduct !" I exclaimed. 
 
 He looked at me with an expression of cynical amusement. 
 
 "Think so? The ' upper ten' quite condone that sort of 
 thing in their own set now-a-days. It is all right. If a lady 
 has lovers, and her husband beams benevolence on the situa- 
 tion, what can be said? Nothing. How very tender your 
 conscience is, Geoffrey !" 
 
 I sat silent, thinking. My companion lit a cigarette and 
 offered me one. I took it mechanically without lighting it. 
 
 " I made a mistake this evening," he went on. " I should 
 not have sung that -'Last Love-song." The fact is, the 
 
i6o THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 words were written by one of her ladyship's former admirers, 
 a man who was something of a poet in his way, — and she had 
 an idea that she was the only person living who had ever seen 
 the lines. She wanted to know if I knew the man who com- 
 posed them, and I was able to say that I did — very intimately. 
 I was just explaining how it was, and why I knew him so well, 
 when the distressing attack of convulsions came on, and fin- 
 ished our conversation. ' ' 
 
 '' She looked horrible !" I said. 
 
 "The paralyzed Helen of a modern Troy? Yes, — her 
 countenance at the last was certainly not attractive. Beauty 
 combined with wantonness, frequently ends in the drawn 
 twitch, fixed eye and helpless limbs of life-in-death. It is 
 Nature's revenge on the outraged body, — and do you know. 
 Eternity's revenge on the impure Soul is extremely similar?" 
 
 '' What do you know about it?" I said, smiling in spite of 
 myself, as I looked at his fine face, expressive of perfect health 
 and splendid intellectuality. '* Your absurd fancies about the 
 soul are the only traces of folly I discover in you." 
 
 '* Really? Well I am glad I have something of the fool in 
 my disposition, — foolishness being the only quality that 
 makes wisdom possible. I confess I have odd, very odd 
 notions about the soul." 
 
 ''I will excuse them," I said, laughing, — God forgive me, 
 in my own insensate blind conceit, — the while he regarded 
 me fixedly. '' In fact, I will excuse anything for the sake of 
 your voice. I do not flatter you, Lucio, — you sing like an 
 angel. ' ' 
 
 "Don't use impossible comparisons," he replied. "Have 
 you ever heard an angel sing?" 
 
 "Yes !" I answered smiling — " I have, — this very night !" 
 
 He turned deadly pale. 
 
 **A very open compliment !" he said, forcing a laugh ; and 
 with almost rough haste, he suddenly let down the window of 
 the carriage, though the night was bitter cold. " This vehicle 
 is suffocating me, — let us have some air. See how the stars 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN i6i 
 
 are shining ! — like great crown jewels — Deity's regalia ! 
 Hard frost, like hard times, brings noble works into promi- 
 nence. Yonder, far off, is a star you can hardly perceive ; 
 red as a cinder at times, and again blue as the lightning, — 
 I can always discover it, though many cannot. It is Algol, 
 — judged by superstitious folk to be an evil star. I love it 
 chiefly on account of its bad reputation, — it is no doubt 
 much maligned. It may be a cold quarter of hell where 
 weeping spirits sit frozen in ice made of their own congealed 
 tears, — or it may be a preparatory school for Heaven — who 
 knows ! Yonder, too, shines Venus, — your star, Geoffrey ! — 
 for you are in love, my friend ! — come confess it ! are you 
 not?" 
 
 "I am not sure," I answered slowly. ''The phrase 'in 
 love' scarcely describes my present feeling ..." 
 
 ''You have dropped these," he said suddenly, picking up 
 a fast fading knot of violets from the floor of the brougham 
 and holding them towards me. He smiled, as I uttered an 
 exclamation of annoyance. They were Lady Sibyl's flowers 
 which I had inadvertently let fall, and I saw he knew it. I 
 took them from his hand in silence. 
 
 "My dear fellow, do not try to hide your intentions from 
 your best friend," he said seriously and kindly. "You 
 wish to marry the Earl of Elton's beautiful daughter, and 
 you shall. Trust me ! — I will do everything I can to promote 
 your desire. ' ' 
 
 "You will?" I exclaimed with unconcealed delight, for I 
 fully recognised the influence he had over Sibyl's father. 
 
 "I will, — I promise," he answered gravely. "I assure 
 you that such a marriage would be one after my own heart. 
 I'll do all I can for you, — and I have made many matches in 
 my time. ' ' 
 
 My heart beat high with triumph, — and when we parted 
 that night I wrung his hand fervently, and told him I was 
 devoutly grateful to the fates for sending me such a good 
 friend as he was. 
 
 / 14* 
 
i62 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ** Grateful to — whom did you say?" he asked with a whim- 
 sical look. 
 
 ''To the Fates!" 
 
 "Are you really? They are very ugly sisters I believe. 
 Perhaps they were your ghostly visitors of last night !" 
 
 ''God forbid !" I ejaculated. 
 
 " Ah ! God never forbids the fulfilment of His own laws !" 
 he answered. " To do so He would have to destroy Himself." 
 
 " If He exists at all !" I said carelessly. 
 
 "True! If—!" 
 
 And with this, we separated to our different quarters in the 
 * Grand.' 
 
 XV 
 
 After that evening I became a regular and welcome visitor 
 at Lord Elton's house, and was soon on terms of the most 
 friendly intimacy with all the members of his family, including 
 even the severely pious Miss Charlotte Fitzroy. It was not 
 difficult for me to see that my matrimonial aspirations were 
 suspected, — and though the encouragement I received from 
 Lady Sibyl herself was so slight as to make me doubtful 
 whether, after all, my hopes of winning her would ever be 
 realized, the Earl made no secret of his delight at the idea of 
 securing me as a son-in-law. Such wealth as mine was not to 
 be met with every day, — and even had I been a blackleg of 
 the turf, or a retired jockey, instead of an 'author,' I should, 
 with five millions at my back, have been considered quite as 
 desirable a suitor for the Lady Sibyl's hand. Rimanez scarcely 
 ever went with me to the Eltons' now, pleading as excuse much 
 pressing business and many social engagements. I was not 
 altogether sorry for this. Greatly as I admired and honoured 
 him, his extraordinary physical beauty and fascination of man- 
 ner were in dangerous contrast to my merely ' ordinary good- 
 looking' personality, and it seemed to me impossible that any 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 163 
 
 woman, seeing much of him, could be expected to give me the 
 preference. All the same I had no fear that he would ever 
 voluntarily become my rival, — his antipathy to women was too 
 deep-rooted and sincere for that. On this point indeed his 
 feelings were so strong and passionate, that I often wondered 
 why the society sirens who eagerly courted his attention re- 
 mained so blind and unconscious to the chill cynicism that 
 lurked beneath his seeming courtesy, — the cutting satire that 
 was coupled with apparent compliment, and the intensity of 
 hatred that flamed under the assumed expression of admiring 
 homage in his flashing eyes. However, it was not my business 
 to point out to those who could not or would not see, the end- 
 less peculiarities of my friend's variable disposition. I did 
 not pay much heed to them even so far as I myself was con- 
 cerned, for I had grown accustomed to the quick changes he 
 was wont to ring on all the gamut of human feeling, and 
 absorbed in my own life-schemes I did not trouble myself to 
 intimately study the man who had in a couple of months 
 become my fidus Achates. I was engrossed at the moment in 
 doing all I could to increase the Earl of Elton's appreciative 
 sense of my value as a man and a millionaire, and to this end 
 I paid some of his pressing debts, lent him a large sum of 
 money without demanding interest or promise of repayment, 
 and stocked his cellar with presents of such rare old wines 
 as he had not been able to afl"ord to purchase for himself 
 for many years. Thus was confidence easily engendered be- 
 tween us, even to that point of affection which displayed itself 
 in his lordship's readiness to thrust his arm through mine when 
 we sauntered together down Piccadilly, and his calling me 
 ' my dear boy' in public. Never shall I forget the bewildered 
 amazement of the scrubby little editor of a sixpenny magazine 
 who met me face to face thus accompanied in the Park one 
 morning ! That he knew the Earl of Elton by sight was evi- 
 dent, and that he also knew me, his apoplectic stare confessed. 
 He had pompously refused to even read any of my offered 
 contributions on the ground that I had ' no name,' — and 
 
i64 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 now ! — he would have given a month's salary if I had but 
 condescended to recognize him. I did not so condescend, — 
 but passed him by, listening to, and laughing with my intended 
 future father-in-law, who was retailing an extremely ancient 
 joke for my benefit. The incident was slight, even trumpery, 
 — yet it put me in a good humour, for one of the chiefest 
 pleasures I had out of my wealth was the ability to repay with 
 vengeful interest all the contempt and insult that had beaten 
 me back from every chance of earning a livelihood while I 
 was poor. 
 
 In all my visits to the Eltons, I never saw the paralyzed 
 Countess again. Since the last terrible visitation of her dread 
 disease, she had not moved. She merely lived and breathed 
 — no more. Lord Elton told me that the worst part of her 
 illness at present, so far as it affected those who had to attend 
 upon her, was the particularly hideous alteration of her face. 
 
 ''The fact is," he said, not without a shudder, "she's 
 dreadful to look at, — positively dreadful ! — no longer human, 
 you know. She used to be a lovely woman, — now she is 
 literally frightful. Her eyes especially ; — they are as scared 
 and wild as if she had seen the devil. Quite an awful ex- 
 pression I assure you ! — and it never alters. The doctors can 
 do nothing — and of course it's very trying for Sibyl, and for 
 everybody. ' ' 
 
 I assented sympathetically ; and realizing that a house hold- 
 ing such a figure of living death within it must of necessity be 
 more or less gloomy and depressing to a young and vigorous 
 nature, I lost no opportunity of giving Lady Sibyl whatever 
 slight pleasures were in my power to procure for her distrac- 
 tion and entertainment. Costly flowers, boxes for the opera 
 and ' first nights' at the play, — every sort of attention that a 
 man can pay to a woman without being considered officious or 
 intrusive I offered, and was not repulsed. Everything pro- 
 gressed well and favourably towards the easy attainment of my 
 wishes, — I had no difficulties, no troubles of any kind, and 
 I voluntarily led a life of selfishly absorbed personal gratifica- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 165 
 
 tion, being commended and encouraged therein by a whole 
 host of flatterers and interested acquaintances. Willowsmere 
 Court was mine ; and every newspaper in the kingdom had 
 commented on the purchase, in either servile or spiteful para- 
 graphs. My lawyers had warmly congratulated me on the 
 possession of so admirable a property which they, in strict 
 accordance with what they conceived to be their duty, had 
 personally inspected and approved. The place was now in 
 the hands of a firm of decorators and furnishers, recommended 
 by Rimanez, and it was expected to be in perfect order for 
 my habitation in early summer, at which time I purposed 
 entertaining a large house-party of more or less distinguished 
 people. 
 
 Meantime, what I had once considered would be the great 
 event of my life, took place, — namely the publication of my 
 book. Trumpeted forth by the most heraldic advertisements, 
 it was at last launched on the uncertain and fluctuating tide of 
 public favour, and special * advance' copies were sent to the 
 office of every magazine and journal in London. The day 
 after this was done, Lucio, as I now familiarly called him, 
 came into my room with a mysterious and mischievous air. 
 
 " Geoffrey," he said, "Vm going to lend you five hundred 
 pounds ! ' ' 
 
 I looked up with a smile. 
 
 '^What for?" 
 
 He held out a cheque towards me. Glancing at it I saw 
 that the sum he mentioned was filled in and endorsed with his 
 signature, but that the name of the person to whom the money 
 was to be made payable, had not yet been written. 
 
 "Well ?— What does it mean?" 
 
 *^It means," replied he, "that I am going to see Mr 
 McWhing this morning. I have an appointment with him 
 at twelve. You, as Geoffrey Tempest, the author of the 
 book Mr McWhing is going to criticise and make a * boom' 
 of, could not possibly put your name to such a cheque. It 
 would not be 'good form' — it might crop up afterwards and 
 
i66 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 so betray ' the secrets of the prison-house.' But for me it 
 is another affair. I am going to * pose' as your business- 
 man — your * literary agent' who pockets ten per cent of the 
 profits, and wants to make a ' big thing' out of you, and I'm 
 going to talk the matter over with the perfectly practical 
 McWhing who has, like every true Scot, a keen eye for the 
 main chance. Of course it will be in confidence, — strict 
 confidence !" and he laughed. " It's aU a question of busi- 
 ness you know, — in these commercial days, literature has 
 become a trade like everything else, and even critics only 
 work for what pays them. As indeed why should tliey 
 not?" 
 
 ''Do you mean to tell me McWhing will take that five 
 hundred?" I asked dubiously. 
 
 " I mean to tell you nothing of the kind. I would not put 
 the matter so coarsely for the world ! This money is not for 
 McWhing, — it is for a literary charity." 
 
 " Indeed ! I thought you had an idea perhaps of offering 
 a bribe . . ." 
 
 '* Bribe! Good Heavens! Bribe a critic! Impossible, 
 my good Geoffrey ! — such a thing was never heard of — 
 never, never, never!" and he shook his head and rolled up 
 his eyes with infinite solemnity. " No, no ! Press people 
 never take money for anything, — not even for 'booming' a 
 new gold-mining company, — not even for putting a notice of 
 a fashionable concert into the Morning Post. Everything 
 in the English press is the just expression of pure and lofty 
 sentiment, believe me ! This little cheque is for a charity 
 of which Mr McWhing is chief patron, — you see the Civil 
 List pensions all go by favour to the wrong persons now-a- 
 days ; to the keeping of lunatic versifiers, and retired ac- 
 tresses who never could act— the actual bona-fide 'genius' 
 never gets anything out of Government, and moreover would 
 scorn to take a farthing from that penurious body, which 
 grudges him anything higher than a money-recognition. It 
 is as great an insult to offer a beggarly pension of fifty or a 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 167 
 
 hundred pounds a year to a really great writer, as to give him 
 a knighthood, — and we cannot fall much lower than to be a 
 knight, as knights go. The present five hundred pounds will 
 help to relieve certain * poor and proud' but pressing literary 
 cases known to McWhing alone!" His expression at this 
 moment was so extraordinary, that I entirely failed to fathom 
 it. "I have no doubt I shall be able to represent the benev- 
 olent and respectable literary agent to perfection — of course I 
 shall insist on my ten per cent!" — and he began laughing 
 again. ** But I can't stop to discuss the matter now with you 
 — I'm off. I promised McWhing to be with him at twelve 
 o'clock precisely, and it's now half- past-eleven. I shall prob- 
 ably lunch with him, so don't wait for me. And concerning 
 the five hundred, you needn't be in my debt an hour longer 
 than you like — I'll take a cheque for the money back from 
 you this evening." 
 
 *' All right," I said. " But perhaps the great oracle of the 
 cliques will reject your proposals with scorn." 
 
 ''If he does, then is Utopia realized!" replied Lucio, 
 carefully drawing on his gloves as he spoke. '' Where's a copy 
 of your book? Ah, here's one, smelling newly of the 
 press," and he slipped the volume into his overcoat pocket. 
 *' Allow me, before departure, to express the opinion that you 
 are a singularly ungrateful fellow Geoffrey ! Here am I, per- 
 fectly devoted to your interests, — and despite my ' prince- 
 dom' actually prepared to ' pose' to McWing as your ' acting 
 manager' pro tern, and you haven't so much as a ' thank-you' 
 to throw at me ! ' ' 
 
 He stood before me smiling, the personification of kindness 
 and good humour. I laughed a little. 
 
 '' McWhing will never take you for an acting manager or 
 literary agent," I said. "You don't look it. If I seem 
 churlish, I'm sorry — but the fact is I am disgusted . . ." * 
 
 ''At what?" he inquired, still smiling. 
 
 "Oh, at the humbug of everything," I answered impa- 
 tiently; "the stupid farce of it all. Why shouldn't a book 
 
1 68 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 get noticed on its own merits without any appeal to cliqiiism 
 and influential wire-pulling on the press ?' ' 
 
 '' Exactly !" and he delicately flicked a grain of dust off" his 
 coat while speaking. " And why shouldn't a man get received 
 in society on his own merits, without any money to recom- 
 mend him, or any influential friend to back him up?" 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 "The world is as it is made," he went on, regarding me 
 fixedly. "It is moved by the lowest and pettiest motives, — it 
 works for the most trivial, ridiculous, and perishable aims. It 
 is not a paradise. It is not a happy family of united and 
 affectionate brethren. It is an over-populated colony of jab- 
 bering and quarrelsome monkeys, who fancy they are men. 
 Philosophers in old days tried to teach it that the monkey- 
 type should be exterminated for the growth and encouragement 
 of a nobler race,but they preached in vain, — there never were 
 enough real men alive to overcome the swarming majority of 
 the beasts. God Himself, they say, came down from Heaven 
 to try and set wrong things right, and to restore if possible 
 His own defaced image to the general aspect of humanity, — 
 and even He failed." 
 
 " There is very little of God in this world," I said bitterly. 
 "There is much more Devil !" 
 
 He smiled, — a musing, dreamy smile that transfigured his 
 countenance and made him look like a fine Apollo absorbed in 
 the thought of some new and glorious song. 
 
 " No doubt !" he said, after a little pause. " Mankind cer- 
 tainly prefer the devil to any other deity, — therefore if they 
 elect him as their representative, it is scarcely to be wondered 
 at that he governs, where he is asked to govern. And yet — 
 do you know, Geoffrey — this devil, — if there is one, — can 
 hardly, I think, be quite so bad as his detractors say. I my- 
 self don't believe he is a whit worse than a nineteenth-century 
 financier !" 
 
 I laughed aloud at the comparison. 
 
 "After that," I said, "you had better go to McWhing. I 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 169 
 
 hope you will tell him that I am the triple essence of all the 
 newest 'discoveries' rolled into one." 
 
 '' Never fear !" returned Lucio. "I've learned all my stock- 
 phrases by heart, — a 'star of the first magnitude,' etc., — I've 
 read the AthcncEiiDi till I've got the lingo of the literary auc- 
 tioneer well-nigh perfect, and I believe I shall acquit myself 
 admirably. Au revoir !" 
 
 He was gone ; and I, after a little desultory looking over 
 my papers, went out to lunch at Arthur's, of whic h club I was 
 now a member. On my way I stopped to look in at a book- 
 seller's window to see if my ' immortal' production was yet on 
 show. It was not, — and the volume put most conspicuously 
 to the front among all the ' newest books' was one entitled 
 ' Differences. By Mavis Clare.' Acting on a sudden impulse 
 I went in to purchase it. 
 
 " Has this a good sale !" I asked, as the volume was handed 
 to me. 
 
 The clerk at the counter opened his eyes wide. 
 
 "Sale?" he echoed, "Well, I should think so— rather ! 
 Why, everybody's reading it !" 
 
 "Indeed;" and I turned over the uncut pages carelessly. 
 " I see no allusion whatever to it in the papers." 
 
 The clerk smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " No — and you're not likely to, sir," he said. " Miss Clare 
 is too popular to need reviews. Besides, a large number of 
 the critics, the 'log-rollers' especially, are mad against her 
 for her success, and the public know it. Only the other day 
 a man came in here from one of the big newspaper offices 
 aud told me he was taking a iQ\w notes on the books which 
 had the largest sales, — would I tell him which author's works 
 were most in demand ? I said Miss Clare took the lead, — 
 as she does, — and he got into a regular rage. Said he, 
 'That's the answer I've had all along the line, and however 
 true it is, it's no use to me, because I dare not mention it. 
 My editor would instantly scratch it out — he hates Miss 
 Clare.' 'A precious editor you've got!' I said, and he 
 
 H 15 
 
lyo THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 looked rather queer. There's nothing like journalism, sir, 
 for the suppression of truth !" 
 
 I smiled, and went away with my purchase, convinced that 
 I had wasted a few shillings on a mere piece of woman's 
 trash. If this Mavis Clare was indeed so 'popular,' then her 
 work must naturally be of the ' penny dreadful' order, for I, 
 like many another literary man, laboured under the ludicrous 
 inconsistency of considering the public an ' ass' while I myself 
 desired nothing so much as the said 'ass's' applause and 
 approval ! — and therefore I could not imagine it capable of 
 voluntarily selecting for itself any good work of literature 
 without guidance from the critics. Of course I was wrong ; 
 the great masses of the public in all nations are always led by 
 some instinctive sense of right, that moves them to reject the 
 false and unworthy, and select the true. Completely pre- 
 pared, like most men of my type, to sneer and cavil at the 
 book, chiefly because it was written by a feminine hand, I sat 
 down in a retired corner of the club reading-room, and began 
 to cut and skim the pages. I had not read many sentences 
 before my heart sank with a heavy sense of fear and, — 
 jealousy! — the slow fire of an insidious envy began to 
 smoulder in my mind. What power had so gifted this 
 author — this mere woman — that she should dare to write 
 better than I ! And that she should force me, by the magic 
 of her pen to mentally acknowledge, albeit with wrath and 
 shame, my own inferiority ! Clearness of thought, brilliancy 
 of style, beauty of diction, all these were hers, united to con- 
 summate ease of expression and artistic skill, — and all at once, 
 in the very midst of reading, such a violent impulse of in- 
 sensate rage possessed me that I flung the book down, 
 dreading to go on with it. The potent, resistless, unpurchas- 
 able quality of Genius ! — ah, I was not yet so blinded by my 
 own conceit as to be unable to recognise that divine fire 
 when I saw it flashing up from every page, as I saw it now ; 
 but, to be compelled to give that recognition to a woman i 
 work, galled and irritated me almost beyond endurance. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 171 
 
 Women, I considered, should be kept in their places as men's 
 drudges or toys, — as wives, mothers, nurses, cooks, menders 
 of socks and shirts, and housekeepers generally, — what right 
 had they to intrude into the realms of art and snatch the 
 laurels from their masters' brows? If I could but get the 
 chance of reviewing this book, I thought to myself savagely ! 
 I would misquote, misrepresent, and cut it to shreds with a 
 joy too great for words! This Mavis Clare — *unsexed,' as 
 I at once called her in my own mind, simply because she 
 had the power I lacked — wrote what she had to say with a 
 gracious charm, freedom, and innate consciousness of strength, 
 — a strength w^hich forced me back upon myself and filled 
 me with the bitterest humiliation. Without knowing her I 
 hated her, — this woman who could win fame without the aid 
 of money, and who was crowned so brightly and visibly to 
 the world that she was beyond criticism. I took up her book 
 again, and tried to cavil at it, — over one or two dainty bits of 
 poetic simile and sentiment I laughed, — enviously. When I 
 left the club later in the day, 1 took the book with me, 
 divided between a curious desire to read it honestly through, 
 with justice to it and its author, and an impulse to tear it 
 asunder and fling it into the road to be crushed in the mud 
 under rolling cab and cart wheels. In this strange humour 
 Rimanez found me, when at about four o'clock he returned 
 from his mission to David McWhing, smiling and — triumphant. 
 
 " Congratulate me, Geoffrey !" he exclaimed as he entered 
 my room. "Congratulate me, and yourself! I am minus 
 the five hundred pound cheque I showed you this morning !" 
 
 ''McWhing has pocketed it tlien," I said sullenly. "All 
 right ! Much good may it do him, and his 'charity' !" 
 
 Rimanez gave me a quick observant glance. 
 
 "Why, what has happened to you since we parted?" he 
 inquired, throwing off his overcoat and sitting down opposite 
 to me. " You seem out of temper ! Yet you ought to be a 
 perfectly happy man — for your highest ambition is about to be 
 gratified. You said you wished to make your book and your 
 
172 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 self ' the talk of London,' — well, within the next two or three 
 weeks you will see yourself praised in a very large number of 
 influential newspapers as the newest discovered * genius' of the 
 day, only a little way removed from Shakespeare himself (three 
 of the big leading magazines are guaranteed to say that), and 
 all this through the affability of Mr McWhing and the trifling 
 sum of five hundred pounds ! And are you not satisfied ? 
 Really, my friend, you are becoming difficult ! — I warned you 
 that loo much good fortune spoils a man." 
 
 With a sudden movement I flung down Mavis Clare's book 
 before him. 
 
 " Look at this," I said. " Does j-/z<? pay five hundred pounds 
 to David McWhing's charity?" 
 
 He took up the volume and glanced at it. 
 
 '* Certainly not. But then, — she gets slandered, not criti- 
 cised!" 
 
 ''What does that matter!" I retorted. "The man from 
 whom I bought this book says that everybody is reading it." 
 
 ''Exactly !" and Rimanez surveyed me with a curious ex- 
 pression, half of pity, half of amusement. "But you know 
 the old axiom, my dear Geoffrey? — * you may lead a horse to 
 the water but you cannot make him drink.' Which statement, 
 interpreted for the present occasion, means that though cer- 
 tain log-rollers, headed by our estimable friend McWhing, 
 may drag the horse — i.e. the public — up to their own particu- 
 larly prepared literary trough, they cannot force it to swallow 
 the mixture. The horse frequently turns tail and runs away 
 in search of its own provender, — it has done so in the case of 
 Miss Clare. When the public choose an author for themselves, 
 it is a dreadful thing of course for other authors, — but it really 
 can't be helped !" 
 
 "Why should they choose Mavis Clare?" I demanded 
 gloomily. 
 
 "Ah, why indeed !" he echoed smiling. " McWhing would 
 tell you they do it out o-f sheer idiotcy ; — the public would 
 answer that they choose her because she has genius." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 173 
 
 ** Genius!" I repeated scornfully. *'The public are per- 
 fectly incapable of recognising such a quality !" 
 
 "You think so !" he said still smiling — " you really think 
 so? In that case it's very odd isn't it, how everything that 
 is truly great in art and literature becomes so widely known 
 and honoured, not only in this country, but in every civilized 
 land where people think or study ? You must remember that 
 all the very famous men and women have been steadily 
 'written down' in their day, even to the late English Lau- 
 reate, Tennyson, who was * criticised' for the most part in 
 the purest ' Billingsgate' ; — it is only the mediocrities who 
 are ever ' written up.' It seems as if the stupid public really 
 had a hand in selecting these 'great,' for the reviewers would 
 never stand them at any price, till driven to acknowledge 
 them by the popular force inajeure. But considering the bar- 
 barous want of culture and utter foolishness of the public, 
 Geoffrey, what / wonder at, is that you should care to appeal 
 to it at all!" 
 
 I sat silent, — inwardly chafing under his remarks. 
 
 *'I am afraid," he resumed, rising and taking a white 
 flower from one of the vases on the table to pin in his button- 
 hole, " that Miss Clare is going to be a thorn in your side, 
 my friend ! A man rival in literature is bad enough, — but 
 a woman rival is too much to endure with any amount of 
 patience ! However, you may console yourself with the cer- 
 tainty that she will never get 'boomed,' — while you — thanks 
 to my tender fostering of the sensitive and high-principled 
 McWhing, will be the one delightful and unique ' discovery' 
 of the press for at least one month, perhaps two, which is 
 about as long as any ' new star of the first magnitude' lasts in 
 the latter-day literary skies. Shooting-stars, all of them ! — 
 such as poor old forgotten Beranger sang of — 
 
 " les etoiles qui filent, - 
 ' Qui filent, — qui filent — at disparait !' " 
 
 •--* " i 
 
 "Except — Mavis Clare !" I said. 
 
 15* 
 
174 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ''True! Except Ma vi^Cla^e !" and he laughed aloud, — 
 a laugh that jarred upon me because there was a note of 
 mockery in it. '' She is a small fixture in the vast heavens, — 
 or so it seems, — revolving very contentedly and smoothly 
 in her own appointed orbit, — but she is not, and never will 
 be attended by the brilliant meteor-flames that will burst 
 round you^ my excellent fellow, at the signal of McWhing ! 
 Fie, Geoffrey! — get over your sulks ! Jealous of a woman ! 
 Be ashamed, — is not woman the inferior creature ! and shall 
 the mere spectre of a feminine fame cause a five-fold million- 
 aire to abase his lofty spirit in the dust ? Conquer your strange 
 fit of the spleen, Geoffrey, and join me at dinner !" 
 
 He laughed again as he left the room, — and again his 
 laughter irritated me. When he had gone, I gave way to the 
 base and unworthy impulse that had for some minutes been 
 rankling within me, and sitting down at my writing table, 
 penned a hasty note to the editor of a rather powerful maga- 
 zine, a man whom I had formerly known and worked for. He 
 was aware of my altered fortunes, and the influential position 
 I now occupied, and I felt confident he would be glad to 
 oblige me in any matter if he could. My letter, marked 
 ^private and confidential,' contained the request that I might 
 be permitted to write for his next number, an anonymous 
 'slashing' review of the new novel entitled 'Differences' by 
 Mavis Clare. 
 
 XVI 
 
 It is almost impossible for me to describe the feverish, 
 irritated and contradictory state of mind in which I now 
 began to pass my days. With the absolute fixity of my 
 fortunes, my humours became more changeful than the wind, 
 and I was never absolutely contented for two hours together. 
 I joined in every sort of dissipation common to men of the 
 day, who with the usual inanity of noodles, plunged into the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 175 
 
 filth of life merely because to be morally dirty was also at the 
 moment fashionable, and much applauded by society. I 
 gambled recklessly, solely for the reason that gambling was 
 considered by many leaders of the ' upper ten' as indicative 
 of 'manliness' and 'showing^;-//." 
 
 ** I hate a fellow who grudges losing a few pounds at play," 
 said one of these * distinguished' titled asses to me once. '' It 
 shows such a cowardly and currish disposition." 
 
 Guided by this ' new' morality, and wishing to avoid the 
 possibility of being called " cowardly and currish," I indulged 
 in baccarat and other ruinous games almost every night, 
 willingly losing the ' few pounds,' which in my case meant a 
 few hundreds, for the sake of my occasional winnings, which 
 placed a number of ' noble' rakes and blue-blooded blacklegs 
 in my power for ' debts of honour,' which are supposed to be 
 more strictly attended to and more punctually paid than any 
 debts in the world, but which, as far as I am concerned, are 
 still owing. I also betted heavily, on everything that could be 
 made the subject of a bet, — and not to be behind my peers 
 in ' style' and ' knowledge of the world' I frequented low 
 houses, and allowed a few half-nude brandy-soaked dancers 
 and vulgar music-hall 'artistes' to get a couple of thousand 
 pounds worth of jewels out of me, because this sort of thing 
 was called ' seeing life' and was deemed part of a ' gentle- 
 man's' diversion. Heavens ! — what beasts we all were, I and 
 my aristocratic boon companions ! — what utterly worthless, 
 useless, callous scoundrels ! — and yet, — we associated with the 
 be.^t and the highest in the land ; — the fairest and noblest ladies 
 in London received us in their houses with smiles and softly- 
 worded flatteries — we — whose presence reeked with vice ; we, 
 * young men of fashion' whom, if he had known our lives as 
 they were, an earnest cobbler working patiently for daily bread 
 might have spat upon, in contempt and indignation that such 
 low rascals should be permitted to burden the earth ! Some- 
 times, but very seldom, Prince Rimanez joined our gambling 
 and music-hall parties, and on such occasions I noticed that 
 
176 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 he, as it were, ' let himself go' and became the wildest of us 
 all. But though wild, he was never coarse, — as we were ; his 
 deep and mellow laughter had a sonorous richness in it that 
 was totally unlike the donkey's ' hee-haw' of our * cultured' 
 mirth, — his manners were never vulgar ; and his fluent discourse 
 on men and things, now witty and satirical, now serious almost 
 to pathos, strangely affected many of those who heard him talk, 
 myself most of all. Once, I remember, when we were returning 
 late from some foolish carouse, — I, with three young sons of 
 English peers, and Rimanez walking beside us, — we came upon 
 a poorly clad girl sobbing and clinging to the iron railing 
 outside a closed church door. 
 
 ''O God!" she wailed— " O dear God! Do help me?" 
 
 One of my companions seized her by the arm with a lewd 
 jest, when all at once Rimanez stepped between. 
 
 " Leave her alone !" he said sternly. *' Let her find God, 
 if she can ! ' ' 
 
 The girl looked up at him terrified, her eyes streaming with 
 tears, and he dropped two or three gold pieces into her hand. 
 She broke out crying afresh. 
 
 ' ' Oh, God bless you ?' ' she cried wildly. ' ' God bless you ! ' ' 
 
 He raised his hat and stood uncovered in the moonlight, his 
 dark beauty softened by a strangely wistful expression. 
 
 *'I thank you!" he said simply. *'You make me your 
 debtor." 
 
 And he passed on ; we followed, somewhat subdued 
 and silenced, though one of my lordling friends sniggered 
 idiotically. 
 
 "You paid dearly for that blessing, Rimanez!" he said. 
 "You gave her three sovereigns; — by Jove ! I'd have had 
 something more than a blessing if I had been you." 
 
 "No doubt!" returned Rimanez. "You deserve more, — • 
 much more ! I hope you will get it ! A blessing would be of 
 no advantage whatever Xo you ;—\\. is, to vie.'^ 
 
 How often I have thought of this incident since ! I was too 
 dense to attach either meaning or importance to it then, — self- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 177 
 
 absorbed as I was, I paid no attention to circumstances which 
 seemed to have no connection with my own life and affairs. 
 And in all my dissipations and so-called amusements, a perpet- 
 ual restlessness consumed me, — I obtained no real satisfaction 
 out of anything except my slow and somewhat tantalizing court- 
 ship of Lady Sibyl. She was a strange girl ; she knew my in- 
 tentions towards her well enough ; yet she affected not to know. 
 Each time I ventured to treat her with more than the usual 
 deference, and to infuse something of the ardour of a lover 
 into my looks or manner, she feigned surprise. I wonder why 
 it is that some women are so fond of playing the hypocrite in 
 love ? Their own instinct teaches them when men are amorous ; 
 but unless they can run the fox to earth, or in other words, re- 
 duce their suitors to the lowest pitch of grovelling appeal, and 
 force them to such abasement that the poor passion-driven 
 fools are ready to fling away life, and even honour, dearer 
 than life, for their sakes, their vanity is not sufficiently gratified. 
 But who, or what am I that I should judge of vanity, — I whose 
 egregious and flagrant self-approbation was of such a character 
 that it blinded me to the perception and comprehension of 
 everything in which my own Ego Avas not represented ! And 
 yet, — with all the morbid interest I took in myself, my sur- 
 roundings, my comfort, my social advancement, there was 
 one thing which soon became a torture to me, — a veritable 
 despair and loathing, — and this, strange to say was the very 
 triumph I had most looked forward to as the crown and sum- 
 mit of all my ambitious dreams. My book, — the book I had 
 presumed to consider a work of genius, — when it was launched 
 on the tide of publicity and criticism, resolved itself into a sort 
 of literary monster that haunted my days and nights with its 
 lustful presence ; the thick, black-lettered, lying advertisements 
 scattered broadcast by my publisher flared at me with an offen- 
 sive insistence in every paper I casually opened. And the 
 praise of the reviewers ! . . . the exaggerated, preposterous, 
 fraudulent ' boom' ! Good God ! — how sickening it was ! — how 
 fulsome 1 Every epithet of flattery bestowed upon me filled me 
 
178 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 with disgust, and one day when I took up a leading magazine 
 and saw a long article upon the ' extraordinary brilliancy and 
 promise' of my book, comparing me to a new ^schylus and 
 Shakespeare combined, with the signature of David McWhing 
 appended to it, I could have thrashed that erudite and 
 assuredly purchased Scot within an inch of his life. The 
 chorus of eulogy was well-nigh universal ; I was the ' genius 
 of the day,' the 'hope of the future generation,' — I was the 
 " Book of the Month," — the greatest, the wittiest, most versa- 
 tile, most brilliant scribbling pigmy that had ever honoured a 
 pot of ink by using it ! Of course I figured as McWhing's 
 ' discovery,' — five hundred pounds bestowed on his mysterious 
 ' charity' had so sharpened his eyesight that he had perceived 
 me shining brightly on the literary horizon before anyone 
 else had done so. The press followed his ' lead' obediently ; 
 for though the press, the English press at least, is distinctly 
 unbribable, the owners of newspapers are not insensible to the 
 advantages of largely paying advertisements. Moreover, when 
 Mr. McWhing announced me as his ' find' in the oracular 
 style which distinguished him, some other literary gentlemen 
 came forward and wrote effective articles about me, and sent 
 me their compositions carefully marked. I took the hint, — 
 wrote at once to thank them, and invited them to dinner. 
 They came and feasted royally with Rimanez and myself; — 
 (one of them wrote an ' Ode' to me afterwards), — and at the 
 conclusion of the revels, we sent two of the ' oracles' home, 
 considerably overcome by champagne, in a carriage, with 
 Amiel to look after them and help them out at their own 
 doors. And my ' boom' expanded, — London ' talked' as I had 
 said it should ; the growling monster metropolis discussed me 
 and my work in its own independent and peculiar fashion. 
 The ' upper ten' subscribed to the circulating libraries, and 
 Mudie made a couple of hundred copies do for all demands, 
 by the simple expedient of keeping subscribers waiting five 
 or six weeks till they grew tired of asking for the book, and 
 forgot all about it. Apart from the libraries, the public did 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 179 
 
 not take me up. From the glowing criticisms that appeared 
 in all the papers, it might have been supposed that * everybody 
 who was anybody' was reading my ' wonderful' production. 
 Such, however, was not the case. People spoke of me as ' the 
 great millionaire,' but they were indifferent to the bid I had 
 made for literary fame. The remark they usually made to 
 me wherever I went was — " You have written a novel, haven't 
 you? What an odd thing for you to do!" — this, with a 
 laugh ; — "■ I haven't read it, — I've so little time, — I must ask 
 for it at the library. ' ' Of course a great many never did ask, 
 not deeming it worth their while ; and I whose money, com- 
 bined with the resistless influence of Rimanez, had started 
 the favourable criticisms that flooded the press, found out 
 that the majority of the public never read criticisms at all. 
 Hence, my anonymous review of Mavis Clare's book made 
 no effect whatever on her popularity, though it appeared in 
 the most prominent manner. It was a sheer waste of labour, 
 — for everywhere this woman author was still looked upon as 
 a creature of altogether finer clay than ordinary, and still her 
 book was eagerly devoured and questioned and admired ; and 
 still it sold by thousands, despite a lack of all favourable 
 criticism or prominent advertisement. No one guessed that 
 I had written what I am now perfectly willing to admit was a 
 brutally wanton misrepresentation of her work, — no one, 
 except Rimanez. The magazine in which it appeared was a 
 notable one, circulating in every club and library, and he, 
 taking it up casually one afternoon, turned to that article at 
 once. 
 
 ''You wrote this!" he said, fixing his eyes upon me. 
 '' It must have been a great relief to your mind !" 
 
 I said nothing. 
 
 He read on in silence for a little ; then, laying down the 
 magazine, looked at me with a curiously scrutinizing expres- 
 sion. 
 
 ''There are some human beings so constituted," he said, 
 " that if they had been with Noah in the ark according to the 
 
i8o THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 silly old legend, they would have shot the dove bearing the 
 olive-leaf, directly it came in sight over the waste of waters. 
 You are of that type, Geoffrey." 
 
 *' I do not see the force of your comparison," I murmured. 
 
 *'Do you not? Why, what harm has this Mavis Clare 
 done to you? Your positions are entirely opposed. You are 
 a millionaire ; she is a hard-working woman dependent on 
 her literary success for a livelihood, and you, rolling in wealth 
 do your best to deprive her of the means of existence. Does 
 this redound to your credit ? She has won her fame by her 
 own brain and energy alone, — and even if you dislike her 
 book, need you abuse her personally as you have done in 
 this article? You do not know her; you have never seen 
 her . . ." 
 
 '' I hate women who write !" I said vehemently. 
 
 ''Why? Because they are able to exist independently? 
 Would you have them all the slaves of man's lust or conve- 
 nience? My dear Geoffrey, you are unreasonable If you 
 admit that you are jealous of this woman's celebrity and 
 grudge it to her, then I can understand your spite, for jealousy 
 is capable of murdering a fellow-creature with either the 
 dagger or the pen." 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 ** Is the book such wretched stuff as you make it out to be?" 
 he asked presently. 
 
 "I suppose some people might admire it," I said curtly; 
 "I do not." 
 
 This was a lie ; and of course he knew it was a lie. The 
 work of Mavis Clare had excited my most passionate envy — 
 while the very fact that Sibyl Elton had read her book before 
 she had thought of looking at mine, had accentuated the 
 bitterness of my feelings. 
 
 ** Well," said Rimanez at last, smiling as he finished read- 
 ing my onslaught, "all I can say, Geoffrey, is that this will 
 not touch Mavis Clare in the least. You have overshot the 
 mark, my friend ! Her public will simply cry, ' What a 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN i8i 
 
 shame !' and clamour for her work more than ever. And as 
 for the woman herself, — she has a merry heart, and she will 
 laugh at it. You must see her some day." 
 
 " I don't want to see her," I said. 
 
 " Probably not. But you will scarcely be able to avoid 
 doing so when you live at Willowsmere Court." 
 
 " One is not obliged to know everybody in the neighbour- 
 hood," I observed superciliously. 
 
 Lucio laughed aloud. 
 
 *' How well you carry your fortunes, Geoffrey !" he said. 
 " For a poor devil of a Grub-street hack, who lately was at a 
 loss for a sovereign, how perfectly you follow the fashions of 
 your time ! If there is one man more than another that 
 moves me to wondering admiration it is he who asserts his 
 wealth strenuously in the face of his fellows, and who com- 
 ports himself in this world as though he could bribe death 
 and purchase the good-will of the Creator. It is such splendid 
 effrontery, — such superlative pride ! Now I, though over- 
 wealthy myself, am so curiously constituted that I cannot wear 
 my bank-notes in my countenance as it were, — I have put in 
 a claim for intellect as well as gold, — and sometimes, do you 
 know, in my travels round the world, I have been so far hon- 
 oured as to be taken for quite a poor man! Now you will 
 never have that chance again ; — you are rich and you look it !" 
 
 " And you, — " I interrupted him suddenly, and with some 
 warmth, — *' do you know what you look? You imply that I 
 assert my wealth in my face ; do you know wha.t you assert in 
 your every glance and gesture?" 
 
 " I cannot imagine !" he said smiling. 
 
 " Contempt for us all !" I said, — " immeasurable contempt, 
 — even for me, whom you call friend. I tell you the truth 
 Lucio, — there are times when, in spite of our intimacy, I feel 
 that you despise me. I daresay you do ; you have an extraor- 
 dinary personality united to extraordinary talents ; yon must 
 not, however, expect all men to be as self-restrained and as in- 
 different to human passions as yourself." 
 
 i6 
 
i82 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 He gave me a swift, searching glance. 
 
 " Expect !" he echoed. '' My good fellow, I expect nothing 
 at all, — from men. They, on the contrary, — at least all those 
 / know, — expL'ct everything from me. And they get it, — 
 generally. As for * despising' you, have I not said that I 
 admire you ? I do. I think there is something positively 
 stupendous in the brilliant progress of your fame and rapid 
 social success." 
 
 ''My fame!" I repeated bitterly. ''How has it been ob- 
 tained ? What is it worth ?" 
 
 "That is not the question," he retorted, with a little 
 smile. " How unpleasant it must be for you to have these 
 gouty twinges of conscience, Geoffrey ! Of course no fame is 
 actually worth much now-a-days, — because it is not classic 
 fame, strong in reposeful old-world dignity, — it is blatant, 
 noisy notoriety merely. But yours, such as it is, is perfectly 
 legitimate, judged by its common-sense commercial aspect, 
 which is the only aspect in which anyone looks at anything. 
 You must bear in mind that no one works out of disin- 
 terestedness in the present age, — no matter how purely 
 benevolent an action may appear on the surface. Self lies 
 at the bottom of it. Once grasp this fact, and you will 
 perceive that nothing could be fairer or more straightforward 
 than the way you have obtained your fame. You have not 
 ' bought' the incorruptible British Press ; you could not do 
 that ; that is impossible, for it is immaculate and bristles 
 stiffly all over with honourable principles. There is no English 
 paper existing that would accept a cheque for the insertion 
 of a notice or a paragraph; not one!" His eyes twinkled 
 merrily, — then he went on, — "No, — it is only the Foreign 
 Press that is corrupt, so the British Press says ; — John Bull 
 looks on virtuously aghast at journalists who, in dire stress of 
 poverty, will actually earn a little extra pay for writing some- 
 thing or somebody ' up' or ' down.* Thank Heaven, he em- 
 ploys no such journalists ; his pressmen are the very soul of 
 rectitude, and will stoically subsist on a pound a week rather 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 183 
 
 than take ten for a casual job ^ to oblige a friend.' Do you 
 know, Geoffrey, when the Judgment Day arrives, who will be 
 among the first saints to ascend to Heaven with the sounding 
 of trumpets ?" 
 
 I shook my head, half vexed, half amused. 
 
 " All the English (not foreign) editors and journalists!" 
 said Lucio with an air of pious rapture. " And why? Be- 
 cause they are so good, so just, so unprejudiced ! Their 
 foreign brethren will be reserved for the eternal dance of devils 
 of course — bnt the Britishers will pace the golden streets 
 singing Alleluia ! I assure you I consider British journalists 
 generally the noblest examples of incorruptibility in the 
 world — they come next to the clergy as representatives of 
 virtue, and exponents of the three evangelical counsels, — 
 voluntary poverty, chastity, and obedience !" Such mockery 
 glittered in his eyes, that the light in them might have been 
 the reflection of clashing steel. " Be consoled, Geoffrey," he 
 resumed, — " your fame is honourably won. You have simply, 
 through me, approached one critic who writes in about 
 twenty newspapers and influences others to write in other 
 twenty, — that critic being a noble creature (all critics are 
 noble creatures), has a pet ' society' for the relief of authors 
 in need (a noble scheme you will own), and to this charity I 
 subscribe, out of pure benevolence, five hundred pounds. 
 Moved by my generosity and consideration (particularly as I 
 do not ask what becomes of the five huudred), McWhing 
 ' obliges' me in a little matter. The editors of the papers for 
 which he writes accept him as a wise and witty personage ; 
 they know nothing about the charity or the cheque, — it is not 
 necessary for them to know. The whole thing is really quite 
 a reasonable business arrangement ; — it is only a self-torment- 
 ing analyst like you who would stop to think of such a trifle a 
 second time." 
 
 " If McWhing really and conscientiously admired my book 
 for itself, ' ' I began. 
 
 ''Why should you imagine he does not?" asked Lucio. 
 
i84 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *' Myself, I believe that he is a perfectly sincere and honorable 
 man. I think he means all he says and writes. I consider 
 that if he had found your work not worthy of his commenda- 
 tion, he would have sent me back that cheque for five hundred 
 pounds, torn across in a noble scorn !" 
 
 And with this, throwing himself back in his chair, he 
 laughed till the tears came into his eyes. 
 
 But I could not laugh; I was too weary and depressed. A 
 heavy sense of despair was on my mind ; I felt that the hope 
 which had cheered me in my days of poverty, — the hope of 
 winning real Fame, so widely different a thing to notoriety, 
 had vanished. There was some quality in the subtle glory 
 which could not be won by either purchase or influence. The 
 praise of the press could not give it. Mavis Clare, working 
 for her bread, had it, — I, with millions of money, had not. 
 Like a fool I had thought to buy it ; I had yet to learn that 
 all the best, greatest, purest and worthiest things in life are 
 beyond all market value, and that the gifts of the gods are not 
 for sale. 
 
 About a fortnight after the publication of my book, we went 
 to Court, my comrade and I, and were presented by a dis- 
 tinguished officer connected with the immediate and intimate 
 surroundings of the Royal household. It was a brilliant scene 
 enough, — but, without doubt, the most brilliant personage 
 there was Rimanez. I was fairly startled at the stately and 
 fascinating figure he made in his court suit of black velvet and 
 steel ornaments ; accustomed as I was to his good looks, I had 
 never seen them so enhanced by dress as on this occasion. I 
 had been tolerably well satisfied with my own appearance in 
 the regulation costume till I saw him ; then my personal 
 vanity suffered a decided shock, and I realized that I merely 
 served as a foil to show off and accentuate the superior at- 
 tractions of my friend. But I was not envious of him in any 
 way, — on the contrary I openly expressed the admiration I 
 frankly felt. 
 
 He seemed amused. '* My dear boy, it is all flunkeydom," 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 185 
 
 he said, — ''all sham and humbug. Look at this," — and he 
 drew his light court rapier from its sheath, — " there is no real 
 use in this flimsy blade, — it is merely an emblem of dead 
 chivalry. In old times, if a man insulted you, or insulted a 
 woman you admired, out flashed a shining point of tempered 
 Toledo steel that could lunge — so!" and he threw himself 
 into a fencing attitude of incomparable grace and ease, — " and 
 you pricked the blackguard neatly through the ribs or arm 
 and gave him cause to remember you. But now" — and he 
 thrust the rapier back in its place — " men carry toys like these 
 as a melancholy sign to show what bold fellows they were once, 
 and what spiritless cravens they are now, — relying no more 
 on themselves for protection, but content to go about yelling 
 ' Police ! Police !' at the least threat of injury to their worth- 
 less persons. Come, it's time we started, Geoffrey ! — let us 
 go and bow our heads before another human unit formed pre- 
 cisely like ourselves, and so act in defiance of Death and the 
 Deity, who declare all men to be equal ! ' ' 
 
 We entered our carriage and were soon on our way to St 
 James's Palace. 
 
 ''His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is not exactly 
 the Creator of the universe," said Lucio suddenly, looking 
 out of the window as we approached the line of soldiery on 
 guard outside. 
 
 " Why, no 1" I answered laughing. " What do you say that 
 for?" 
 
 " Because there is as much fuss about him as if he were, — 
 in fact, more. The Creator does not get half as much atten- 
 tion bestowed upon Him as Albert Edward. We never attire 
 ourselves in any special way for entering the presence of God ; 
 we don't put so much as a clean mind on." 
 
 "But then," I said indifferently, "God is /ion est, — and 
 Albert Edward is est.'' 
 
 He smiled, — and his eyes had a scornful gleam in their dark 
 centres. 
 
 "That is your opinion?" he queried. "Well, it is not 
 
 16* 
 
1 86 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 original, — many choice spirits share it with you. There is at 
 least one good excuse for people who make no preparation to 
 enter the presence of God, — in going to church, which is 
 called the ' house of God,' they do not find God at all ; they 
 only discover the clergyman. It is somewhat of a disappoint- 
 ment." 
 
 I had no time to reply, as just then the carriage stopped, 
 and we alighted at the palace. Through the intervention of 
 the high Court official who presented us, we got a good place 
 among the most distinguished arrivals, and during our brief 
 wait, I was considerably amused by the study of their faces 
 and attitudes. Some of the men looked nervous, — others con- 
 ceited ; one or two Radical notabilities comported themselves 
 with an air as if they, and they alone, were to be honoured for 
 allowing Royalty to hold these functions at all ; a few gentle- 
 men had evidently donned their Levee dress in haste and care- 
 lessness, for the pieces of tissue-paper in which their steel or 
 gilt coat-buttons had been wrapped by the tailor to prevent 
 tarnish, were still unremoved. Discovering this fortunately 
 before it was too late, they occupied themselves by taking off 
 these papers and casting them on the floor, — an untidy process 
 at best, and one that made them look singularly ridiculous 
 and undignified. Each man present turned to stare at Lucio ; 
 his striking personality attracted universal attention. When 
 we at last entered the throne-room, and took our places in 
 line, I was careful to arrange that my brilliant companion 
 should go up before me, as I had a strong desire to see what 
 sort of an effect his appearance would produce on the Royal 
 party. I had an excellent view of the Prince of Wales from 
 where I myself waited ; he made an imposing and kingly 
 figure enough, in full uniform with his various Orders glitter- 
 ing on his broad breast; and the singular resemblance dis- 
 covered by many people in him to Henry VHI. struck me 
 more forcibly than I should have thought possible. His face, 
 however, expressed a far greater good-humour than the pictured 
 lineaments of the capricious but ever popula|-j '' bluff King 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 187 
 
 Ha1," — though on this occasion there was a certain shade of 
 melancholy, even sternness on his brow, which gave a firmer 
 character to his naturally mobile features, — a shadow, as I 
 fancied of weariness, tempered with regret, — the look of one 
 dissatisfied, yet resigned. A man of blunted possibilities he 
 seemed tome, — of defeated aims, and thwarted will. Few of 
 the other members of the Ro3al family surrounding him on 
 the dais possessed the remarkable attraction he had for any 
 observant student of physiognomy, — most of them were, or 
 assumed to be, stiff military figures merely, who bent their 
 heads as each guest filed past with an automatic machine- 
 like regularity implying neither pleasure, interest, nor good- 
 will. But the Heir-Apparent to the greatest Empire in the 
 world expressed, in his very attitude and looks, an unaf- 
 fected and courteous welcome to all, — surrounded as he 
 was, and as such in his position must ever be, by toadies, 
 parasites, sycophants, hypocritical selfseekers, who would 
 never run the least risk to their own lives to serve him, 
 unless they could get something personally satisfactory out 
 of him, his presence impressed itself upon me as suggestive 
 of dormant but none the less resolute power. I cannot even 
 now explain the singular excitation of mind that seized me as 
 our turn to be presented arrived ; — I saw my companion ad- 
 vance, and heard the Lord Chamberlain announce his name ; 
 'Prince Lucio Rimanez;' and then; — why then, it seemed 
 as if all the movement in the brilliant room suddenly came to 
 a pause ! Every eye was fixed on the stately form and noble 
 countenance of my friend as he bowed with such consummate 
 courtliness and grace as made all other salutations seem awk- 
 ward by comparison. For one moment he stood absolutely 
 still in front of the Royal dais ; facing the Prince as though 
 he sought to impress him with the fact of his presence there, — 
 and across the broad stream of sunshine which had been pour- 
 ing into the room throughout the ceremony, there fell the 
 sudden shadow of a passing cloud. A fleeting impression of 
 gloom and silence chilled the atmosphere,— a singular mag- 
 
1 88 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 netism appeared to hold all eyes fixed on Rimanez ; and not 
 a man either going or coming, moved. This intense hush 
 was brief as it was curious and impressive ; — the Prince of 
 Wales started slightly, and gazed at the superb figure before 
 him with an expression of eager curiosity, and almost as if he 
 were ready to break the frigid bonds of etiquette and speak, — 
 then controlling himself with an evident effort, he gave his 
 usual dignified acknowledgment of Lucio's profound rever- 
 ence, whereupon my comrade passed on, slightly smiling. I 
 followed next, — but naturally made no impression beyond the 
 fact of exciting a smothered whisper from someone among 
 the lesser Royalties who caught the name ' Geoffrey Tem- 
 pest,' and at once murmured the magic words ''Five mil- 
 lions!" — words which reached my ears and moved me to 
 the usual weary contempt which was with me growing into 
 a chronic malady. We were soon out of the palace, and 
 while waiting for our carriage in the covered court-yard 
 entrance, I touched Rimanez on the arm. 
 ''You made a veritable sensation, Lucio !" 
 " Did I?" He laughed. " You flatter me, Geoffrey." 
 "Not at all. Why did you stop so long in front of the 
 dais?" 
 
 " To please my humour !" he returned indifferently. "And 
 partly, to give his Royal Highness the chance of remembering 
 me the next time he sees me." 
 
 "But he seemed to recognise you," I said. "Have you 
 met him before ?' ' 
 
 His eyes flashed. "Often! But I have never till now 
 made a public appearance at St James's. Court costume 
 and ' company manners' make a difference to the looks of 
 most men,— and I doubt,— yes, I very much doubt, whether, 
 even with his reputed excellent memory for faces, the Prince 
 really knew me to-day for what I am ! " 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 189 
 
 XVII 
 
 It must have been about a week or ten days after the Levee 
 that I had the strange scene with Sibyl Elton I am about 
 to relate ; a scene that left a painful impression on my mind 
 and should have been sufficient to warn me of impending 
 trouble to come had I not been too egotistical to accept any 
 portent that presaged ill to myself. Arriving at Lord Elton's 
 house one evening, and ascending the stairs to the drawing- 
 room as was now my usual custom, unannounced and without 
 ceremony, I found Diana Chesney there alone and in tears. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter?" I exclaimed in a rallying tone, 
 for I was on very friendly and familiar terms with the little 
 American. " You, of all people in the world, having a private 
 * weep' ! Has our dear railway papa ' bust up' ?" 
 
 She laughed, a trifle hysterically. 
 
 '' Not just yet, you bet !" she answered, lifting her wet eyes 
 to mine and showing that mischief still sparkled brightly in 
 them. " There's nothing wrong with the funds as far as I 
 know. I've only had a — well — a sort of rumpus here with 
 Sibyl." 
 
 "With Sibyl?" 
 
 " Yes," — and she rested the point of her little embroidered 
 shoe on a footstool and looked at it critically. " You see it's 
 the Catsups' ' At Home' to-night, and I'm invited and Sibyl's 
 invited ; Miss Charlotte is knocked up with nursing the 
 Countess, and I of course made sure that Sibyl would go. 
 Well, she never said a word about it till she came down to 
 dinner, and then she asked me what time I wanted the car- 
 riage. I said, ' Are you going too ?' and she looked at me in 
 that provoking way of hers, you know ! — a look that takes you in 
 from your topmost hair to your shoe-edge, and answered, '■ Did 
 you think it possible !' Well, I flared up, and said of course 
 I thought it possible, — why shouldn't it be possible? She 
 
I90 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 looked at me in the same way again and said, ' To the Cat- 
 sups ? with you /' Now, you know, Mr Tempest, that was 
 real downright rudeness, and more than I could stand, so I just 
 gave way to my mind. ' Look here, ' I said — ' though you are 
 the daughter of an Earl, you needn't turn up your nose at 
 Mrs Catsup. She isn't half bad, — I don't speak of her 
 money, — but she's a real good sort, and has a kind heart, 
 which it appears to me is more than you have. Mrs Catsup 
 would never treat me as unkindly as you do.' And then I 
 choked, — I could have burst out in a regular yell, if I hadn't 
 thought the footman might be outside the door, listening. 
 And Sibyl only smiled, that patent ice-refrigerator smile of 
 hers, and asked, * Would you prefer to live with Mrs Catsup ?' 
 Of course I told her no, — nothing would induce me to live 
 with Mrs Catsup, and then she said, ' Miss Chesney, you pay 
 my father for the protection and guarantee of his name and 
 position in English social circles, but the companionship of 
 my father's daughter was not included in the bargain. I have 
 tried to make you understand as distinctly as I can that I will 
 not be seen in society with you, — not because I dislike you, — 
 far from it, — but simply because people would say I was acting 
 as your paid companion. You force me to speak plainly, and 
 I am sorry if I offend. As for Mrs Catsup, I have only met 
 her once, and she seemed to me very common and ill-bred. 
 Besides I do not care for the society of tradespeople.' And 
 with that she got up and sailed out, — and I heard her order 
 the carriage for me at ten. It's coming round directly, and 
 just look at my red eyes ! It's awfully hard on me, — I know 
 old Catsup made his pile out of varnish, but varnish is as good 
 as anything else in the general market. And — and — it's all 
 out now, Mr Tempest, — and you can tell Sibyl what I've said 
 if you like; I know you're in love with her." 
 
 I stared, bewildered by her voluble and almost breathless 
 outburst. 
 
 *' Really, Miss Chesney," I began formally. 
 
 *' Oh, yeS; Miss Chesney, Miss Chesney — it's all very well !" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN' 191 
 
 she repeated impatiently, snatching up a gorgeous evening 
 cloak which I mutely volunteered to put on, an offer she as 
 mutely accepted. ''I'm only a girl, and it isn't my fault if 
 I've got a vulgar man for a father who wants to see me 
 married to an English nobleman before he dies, — that's his 
 look-out — / don't care about it. English noblemen are a 
 rickety lot in my opinion. But I've as good a heart as any- 
 one, and I could love Sibyl if she'd let me, but she won' t. 
 She leads the life of an ice-berg, and doesn't care a rap for 
 anyone. She doesn't care for you, you know ! — I wish she 
 did, — she'd be more human !" 
 
 "I'm very sorry for all this," I said, smiling into the 
 piquante face of the really sweet-natured girl, and gently 
 fastening the jewelled clasp of her cloak at her throat. " But 
 you mustn't mind it so much. You are a dear little soul, 
 Diana, — kind and generous and impulsive, and all the rest of 
 it, — but — well — English people are very apt to misunderstand 
 Americans. I can quite enter into your feelings, — still, you 
 know Lady Sibyl is very proud ' ' 
 
 "Proud?" she interrupted. "My! I guess it must feel 
 something splendid to have an ancestor who was piked through 
 the body on Bosworth field, and left there for the birds to 
 eat. It seems to give a kind of stiffness in the back to all 
 the family ever afterwards. Shouldn't wonder if the de- 
 scendants of the birds who ate him felt kinder stuck up about 
 it too!" 
 
 I laughed ; she laughed with me, and was quite herself 
 again. 
 
 " If I told you my ancestor was a Pilgrim Father, you 
 wouldn't believe me I expect !" she said, the corners of her 
 mouth dimpling. 
 
 "I should believe anything from your lips!" I declared 
 gallantly. 
 
 " Well, believe that, then ! Swallow it down if you can ! 
 I can't. He was a Pilgrim Father in the Mayflower, and 
 he fell on his knees and thanked God as soon as he touched 
 
192 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 dry land in the true Pilgrim Father way. But he couldn't 
 hold a candle to the piked man at Bosworth." 
 
 Here we were interrupted by the entrance of a footman. 
 
 ** The carriage is waiting, Miss." 
 
 ** Thanks, — all right. Good-night, Mr Tempest, — you'd 
 better send word to Sibyl you are here ; Lord Elton is dining 
 out, but Sibyl will be at home all the evening." 
 
 I offered her my arm, and escorted her to the carriage, 
 feeling a little sorry for her as she drove off in solitary state 
 to the festive ' crush' of the successful varnisher. She was a 
 good girl, a bright girl, a true girl, — vulgar and flippant at 
 times, yet on the whole sincere in her better qualities of 
 character and sentiment, — and it was this very sincerity which, 
 being quite unconventional and not at all la mode, was mis- 
 understood and would always be misunderstood by the higher 
 and therefore more hypocritically polished circles of English 
 society. 
 
 I returned to the drawing-room slowly and meditatively, 
 telling one of the servants on my way to ask Lady Sibyl if she 
 could see me for a few moments. I was not kept waiting 
 long ; I had only paced the room twice up and down when 
 she entered, looking so strangely wild and beautiful that I 
 could scarcely forbear uttering an exclamation of wonder. 
 She wore white as was always her custom in the evenings, — 
 her hair was less elaborately dressed than usual, and clustered 
 over her brow in loose wavy masses, — her face was exceed- 
 ingly pale, and her eyes appeared larger and darker by com- 
 parison, — her smile was vague and fleeting like that of a sleep- 
 walker. She gave me her hand ; it was dry and burning. 
 
 *' My father is out," she began. 
 
 '* I know. But I came to see j^//;. May I stay a little?" 
 
 She murmured assent, and sinking listlessly into a chair, 
 began to play with some roses in a vase on the table beside 
 her. 
 
 *' You look tired. Lady Sibyl," I said gently. ''Are you 
 not well?" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 193 
 
 "I am quite well," she answered. " But you are right in 
 saying I am tired. I am dreadfully tired !" 
 
 *' You have been doing too much perhaps? — your attend- 
 ance on your mother tries you " 
 
 She laughed bitterly. 
 
 "Attendance on my mother ! — pray do not credit me with 
 so much devotion. I never attend on my mother. I can- 
 not do it ; I am too much of a coward. Her face terrifies 
 me ; and whenever I do venture to go near her, she tries to 
 speak, with such dreadful, such ghastly efforts, as make her 
 more hideous to look at than anyone can imagine. I should 
 die of fright if I saw her often. As it is when I do see her 
 I can scarcely stand — and twice I have fainted with the 
 horror of it. To think of it ! — that that living corpse with 
 the fearful fixed eyes and distorted mouth should actually be 
 my 77iother. ' ' 
 
 She shuddered violently, and her very lips paled as she 
 spoke. I was seriously concerned, and told her so. 
 
 ''This must be very bad for your health," I said, drawing 
 my chair closer to hers. ''Can you not get away for a 
 change?" 
 
 She looked at me in silence. The expression of her eyes 
 thrilled me strangely, — it was not tender or wistful, but fierce, 
 passionate and commanding. 
 
 "I saw Miss Chesney for a few moments just now," I re- 
 sumed. " She seemed very unhappy." 
 
 "She has nothing to be unhappy about," said Sibyl 
 coldly — "except the time my mother takes in dying. But 
 she is young ; she can afford to wait a little for the Elton 
 coronet. ' ' 
 
 "Is not — may not this be a mistaken surmise of yours?" 
 I ventured to say gently. " AVhatever her faults, I think the 
 girl admires and loves you." 
 
 She smiled scornfully. 
 
 "I want neither her love nor her admiration," she said. 
 "I have few women-friends, and those few are all hypocrites 
 I n 17 
 
194 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 whom I mistrust. When Diana Chesney is my step-mother, we 
 shall still be strangers." 
 
 I felt I was on delicate ground, and that I could not continue 
 the conversation without the risk of giving offence. 
 
 *' W^here is yotir friend?" asked Sibyl suddenly, apparently 
 to change the subject. ''Why does he so seldom come here 
 now?" 
 
 *' Rimanez? Well, he is a very queer fellow, and at times 
 takes an abhorrence for all society. He frequently meets your 
 father at the club, and I suppose his reason for not coming here 
 is that he hates women." 
 
 "All women?" she queried with a little smile. 
 
 '' Without exception !" 
 
 *' Then he hates me?" 
 
 " I did not say that," I answered quickly. " No one could 
 hate you. Lady Sibyl, — but truly, as far as Prince Rimanez is 
 concerned, I expect he does not abate his aversion to woman- 
 kind (which is his chronic malady) even for you." 
 
 " So he will never marry?" she said musingly. 
 
 I laughed. "Oh, never! That you may be quite sure 
 of." 
 
 Still playing with the roses near her, she relapsed into 
 silence. Her breath came and went quickly ; I saw her long 
 eyelashes quiver against the pale rose-leaf tint of her cheeks, — 
 the pure outline of her delicate profile suggested to my mind 
 one of Fra Angelico's meditative saints or angels. All at once, 
 while I yet watched her admiringly, she suddenly sprang erect, 
 crushing a rose in her hand, her head thrown back, her eyes 
 flashing, her whole frame trembling. 
 
 "Oh, I cannot bear it!" she cried wildly. "I cannot 
 bear it !" 
 
 I started up astonished, and confronted her. 
 
 "Sibyl!" 
 
 " Oh, why don't you speak, and fill up the measure of my 
 degradation !" she went on passionately. " Why don't you tell 
 me, as you tell my father, your purpose in coming here? 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 195 
 
 Why don't you say to ;;/<?, as you say to him, that your sover- 
 eign choice has fastened upon me, — that I am the woman out 
 of all the world you have elected to marry ! Look at me ! ' ' 
 and she raised her arms with a tragic gesture. "Is there any 
 flaw in the piece of goods you wish to purchase ? This face 
 is deemed worthy of the fashionable photographer's pains ; 
 worthy of being sold for a shilling as one of England's ' beau 
 ties,'— this figure has served as a model for the showing- 
 off of many a modiste's costume, purchased at half-cost on 
 the understanding that I must state to my circle of acquaint- 
 ance the name of the maker or designer, — these eyes, these 
 lips, these arms are all yours for the buying ! Why do you 
 expose me to the shame of dallying over your bargain ? — by 
 hesitating and considering as to whether, after all, I am worthy 
 of your gold !" 
 
 She seemed seized by some hysterical passion that convulsed 
 her, and in mingled amazement, alarm and distress, I sprang 
 to her and caught her hands in my own. 
 
 ''Sibyl, Sibyl!" I said, ''hush — hush! You are over- 
 wrought with fatigue and excitement, — you cannot know what 
 you are saying. My darling, what do you take me for? — what 
 is all this nonsense in your mind about buying and selling ? 
 You know I love you, — I have made no secret of it, — you 
 must have seen it in my face, — and if I have hesitated to 
 speak, it is because I feared your rejection of me. You are 
 too good for me Sibyl, — too good for any man, — I am not 
 worthy to win your beauty and innocence. My love, my love, 
 do not give way in this manner," — for as I spoke she clung 
 to me like a wild bird suddenly caged. " What can I say to 
 you, but that I worship you with all the strength of my life, — 
 I love you so deeply that I am afraid to think of it ; it is a 
 passion I dare not dwell upon, Sibyl, — I love you too well, — 
 too madly for my own peace " 
 
 I trembled, and was silent, — her soft arms clinging to me 
 robbed me of a portion of my self-control. I kissed the 
 rippling waves of her hair ; she lifted her head and looked up 
 
196 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 at me, her eyes alit with some strange lustre that was not love 
 as much as fear, — and the sight of her beauty thus yielded as 
 it were to my possession, broke down the barriers of re^-traint 
 I had hitherto imposed upon myself. I kissed her on the lips, 
 — a long passionate kiss that, to my excited fancy, seemed to 
 mingle our very beings into one, — but while I yet held her in 
 my arms, she suddenly released herself, and pushed me back. 
 Standing apart from me she trembled so violently that I feared 
 she would fall, and I took her hand and made her sit down. 
 She smiled, — a very wan smile. 
 
 '' What did you feel then?" she asked. 
 
 "When, Sibyl?" 
 
 *' Just now, — when you kissed me?" 
 
 "All the joys of heaven and fires of hell in a moment !" I 
 said. 
 
 She regarded me with a curious musing frown. 
 
 " Strange ! Do you know what /felt?" 
 
 I shook my head smiling, and pressed my lips on the soft 
 small hand I held. 
 
 " Nothing !" she said, with a kind of hopeless gesture. " I 
 assure you, absolutely nothing ! I cannot feel. I am one of 
 your modern women, — I can only think, — and analyze." 
 
 "Think and analyze as much as you will, my queen," I 
 answered playfully — " if you will only think you can be happy 
 with me. That is all I desire." 
 
 " Can you be happy with me .?" she asked. " Wait — do not 
 answer for a moment, till I tell you what I am. You are 
 altogether mistaken in me." She was silent for some minutes, 
 and I watched her anxiously. " I was always intended for 
 this," she said slowly at last, — "this, to which I have now 
 come, — to be the property of a rich man. Many men have 
 looked at me with a view to purchase, but they could not pay 
 the price my father demanded. Pray do not look so dis- 
 tressed ! — what I say is quite true, and quite commonplace, — 
 all the women of the upper classes, — the unmarried ones, — 
 are for sale now in England as utterly as the Circassian girls 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 197 
 
 in a barbarian slave-market. I see you wish to protest, and 
 assure me of your devotion, — but there is no need of this, — 
 I am quite sure you love me, — as much as any man can love, 
 — and I am content. But you do not know me really, — you 
 are attracted by my face and form, — and — you admire my 
 youth and innocence, which you think I possess. But I am 
 not young — I am old in heart and feeling. I was young for a 
 little while at Willowsmere, when I lived among flowers and 
 birds and all the trustful honest creatures of the woods and 
 fields, — but one season in town was sufficient to kill my youth 
 in me, — one season of dinners and balls, and — fashionable 
 novel-reading. Now you have written a book, and therefore 
 you must know something about the duties of authorship, — 
 of the serious and even terrible responsibility writers incur 
 when they send out to the world books full of pernicious and 
 poisonous suggestion to contaminate the minds that have 
 hitherto been clean and undiseased. Your book has a noble 
 motive ; and for this I admire it in many parts, though to me 
 it is not as convincing as it might have been. It is well 
 written too ; but I gained the impression while reading it, 
 that you were not altogether sincere yourself in the thoughts 
 you strove to inculcate, — and that therefore you just missed 
 what you should have gained." 
 
 "I am sure you are right," I said, with a wholesome pang 
 of humiliation. ''^The book is worthless as literature, — itjs 
 only the ' boom' of a season !" 
 
 ''At anyrate," she went on, her eyes darkening with the 
 intensity of her feeling, '' you have not polluted your pen 
 with the vileness common to many of the authors of the day. 
 I ask you, do you think a girl can read the books that are 
 now freely published, and that her silly society friends tell 
 her to read, — 'because it is so dreadfully queer!' — and yet 
 remain unspoilt and innocent ? Books that go into the de- 
 tails of the lives of outcasts ? — that explain and analyze the 
 secret vices of men ? — that advocate almost as a sacred duty 
 ' free love' and universal polygamy ? — that see no shame in 
 
 17^ 
 
198 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 introducing into the circles of good wives and pure-minded 
 girls, a heroine who boldly seeks out a man, any man, in 
 order that she may have a child by him, without the ' deg- 
 radation' of marrying him? I have read all those books, — 
 and what can you expect of me ? Not innocence, surely ! I 
 despise men, — I despise my own sex, — I loathe myself for 
 being a woman ! You wonder at my fanaticism for Mavis 
 Clare, — it is only because for a time her books give me 
 back my self-respect, and make me see humanity in a nobler 
 light, — because she restores to me, if only for an hour, a 
 kind of glimmering belief in God, so that my mind feels 
 refreshed and cleansed. All the same, you must not look 
 upon me as an innocent young girl, Geoffrey, — a girl such as 
 the great poets idealized and sang of, — I am a contaminated 
 creature, trained to perfection in the lax morals and prurient 
 literature of my day." 
 
 I looked at her in silence, pained, startled, and with a sense 
 of shock, as though something indefinably pure and precious 
 had crumbled into dust at my feet. She rose and began pacing 
 the room restlessly, moving to and fro with a slow yet fierce 
 grace that reminded me against my wish and will of the move- 
 ment of some imprisoned and savage beast of prey. 
 
 *'You shall not be deceived in me," she said, pausing a 
 moment and eyeing me sombrely. *' If you marry me, you 
 must do so with a full realization of the choice you make. 
 For with such wealth as yours, you can of course wed any 
 woman you fancy. I do not say you could find a girl better 
 than I am; I do not think you could in my *set,' because 
 we are all alike, — all tarred with the same brush, and filled 
 with the same merely sensual and materialistic views of life 
 and its responsibilities as the admired heroines of the * so- 
 ciety' novels we read. Away in the provinces, among the 
 middle classes it is possible you might discover a really good 
 girl of the purest blush-rose innocence, — but then you might 
 also find her stupid and unentertaining, and you would 
 not care for that. My chief recommendation is that I am 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 199 
 
 beautiful, — you can see that ; everybody can see that, — and 
 I am not so affected as to pretend to be unconscious of the 
 fact. There is no sham about my external appearance ; my 
 hair is not a wig, — my complexion is natural, — my figure 
 is not the result of the corset-maker's art, — my eyebrows and 
 eyelashes are undyed. Oh, yes, — you can be sure that the 
 beauty of my body is quite genuine ! — but it is not the out- 
 ward expression of an equally beautiful soul. And this is 
 what I want you to understand. I am passionate, resentful, 
 impetuous, — frequently unsympathetic, and inclined to mor- 
 bidness and melancholy, and I confess I have imbibed, con- 
 sciously or unconsciously, that complete contempt of life and 
 disbelief in a God, which is the chief theme of nearly all the 
 social teachings of the time." 
 
 She ceased, — and I gazed at her with an odd sense of 
 mingled worship and disillusion, even as a barbarian might 
 gaze at an idol whom he still loved, but whom he could no 
 longer believe in as divine. Yet what she said was in no way 
 contrary to my own theories, — how then could I complain ? 
 I did not believe in a God; — why should I inconsistently feel 
 regret that she shared my unbelief? I had involuntarily 
 clung to the old-fashioned idea that religious faith was a 
 sacred duty in womanhood ; I was not able to offer any 
 reason for this notion, unless it was the romantic fancy of 
 having a good woman to pray for one, if one had no time and 
 less inclination to pray for one's self. However, it was evi- 
 dent Sibyl was ' advanced' enough to do without superstitious 
 observances ; she would never pray for me ; — and if we had 
 children, she would never teach them to make their first 
 tender appeals to Heaven for my sake or hers. I smothered 
 a slight sigh, and was about to speak, w^hen she came up to 
 me and laid her two hands on my shoulders. '^You look 
 unhappy, Geoffrey," she said in gentler accents. *'Be con- 
 soled ! — it is not too late for you to change your mind !" 
 
 I met the questioning glance of her eyes, — beautiful, lus- 
 trous eyes as clear and pure as light itself. 
 
200 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 '' I shall never change, Sibyl, " I answered. '' I love you ; 
 I shall always love you. But I wish you would not analyze 
 yourself so pitilessly, — you have such strange ideas " 
 
 " You think them strange !" she said. '* You should not, — 
 in these ' new women' days ! I believe that, thanks to news- 
 papers, magazines and ' decadent' novels, I am in all respects 
 eminently fitted to be a wife!" and she laughed bitterly. 
 ''There is nothing in the role of marriage that I do not 
 know, though I am not yet twenty. I have been prepared 
 for a long time to be sold to the highest bidder, and what 
 few silly notions I had about love, — the love of the poets 
 and idealists,— when I was a dreamy child at Willowsmere, 
 are all dispersed and ended. Ideal love is dead, — and worse 
 than dead, being out of fashion. Carefully instructed as I 
 have been in the worthlessness of everything but money, you 
 can scarcely be surprised at my speaking of myself as an ob- 
 ject of sale. Marriage for me /s sl sale, as far as my father 
 is concerned, — for you know well enough that however much 
 you loved me, or I loved you, he would never allow me to 
 marry you if you were not rich, and richer than most men. I 
 want you to feel that I fully recognise the nature of the bargain 
 struck; and I ask you not to expect a girl's fresh, confiding 
 love from a woman as warped in heart and mind as I am !" 
 
 "Sibyl," I said earnestly, "you wrong yourself; I am 
 sure you wrong yourself ! You are one of those who can be 
 i;i the world yet not of it ; your mind is too open and pure 
 to be sullied, even by contact with evil things. I will be- 
 lieve nothing you say against your own sweet and noble char- 
 acter, — and, Sibyl, let me again ask you not to distress me by 
 this constant harping on the subject of my wealth, or I shall 
 be inclined to look upon it as a curse. I should love you as 
 much if I w^ere poor ' ' 
 
 "Oh, you might love me," she interrupted me with a 
 strange smile, " but you would not dare to say so !" 
 
 1 was silent. Suddenly she laughed, and linked her arms 
 caressingly round my neck. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 201 
 
 "There, Geoffrey!" she said, "I have finished my dis- 
 course, — my bit of Ibsenism or whatever other ism affects 
 me, — and we need not be miserable about it. I have said 
 what was in my mind ; I have told you tlie truth, that in heart 
 I am neither young nor innocent. But I am no worse than 
 all my * set,' so perhaps you had better make the best of me. 
 I please your fancy, do I not?" 
 
 " My love for you cannot be so lightly expressed, Sibyl !" 
 I answered, in rather a pained tone. 
 
 ''Never mind, — it is my humour so to express it," she 
 went on. "I please your fancy, and you wish to marry me. 
 Well now, all I ask is, go to my father and buy me at once ! 
 Conclude the bargain ! And when you have bought me, — 
 don't look so tragic!" and she laughed again — '' and when 
 you have paid the clergyman, and paid the bridesmaids 
 (with monogram lockets or brooches), and paid the guests 
 (with wedding-cake and champagne), and cleared up all scores 
 with everybody, even to the last man who shuts the door of 
 the nuptial brougham, — will you take me away, — far away 
 from this place — this house, where my mother's face haunts 
 me like a ghost in the darkness ; where I am tortured by 
 terrors night and day, — where I hear such strange sounds, 
 and dream of such ghastly things — " here her voice suddenly 
 broke, and she hid her face against my breast. "Oh, yes, 
 Geoffrey, take me away as quickly as possible ! Let us 
 never live in hateful London, but at Willowsmere ; I may 
 find some of the old joys there, — and some of the happy 
 bygone days." 
 
 Touched by the appealing pathos of her accents, I pressed 
 her to my heart, feeling that she was scarcely accountable for 
 the strange things she said in her evidently overwrought and 
 excitable condition. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish, my darling," I said. '* The sooner 
 I have you all to myself the better. This is the end of 
 March, — will you be ready to marry me in June !" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, still hiding her face. 
 
202 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *' And now, Sibyl," I went on, ''remember — there must be 
 no more talk of money and bargaining. Tell me what you 
 have not yet told me, — that you love me, — and would love me 
 even if I were poor." 
 
 She looked up, straightly and unflinchingly, full into \ny 
 eyes. 
 
 "I cannot tell you that," she said. *'I have told you I 
 do not believe in love ; and if you were poor I certainly 
 should not marry you. It would be no use !" 
 
 ''You are frank, Sibyl !" 
 
 "It is best to be frank, is it not?" and she drew a flower 
 from the knot at her bosom, and began fastening it in my 
 coat. " Geoffrey, what is the good of pretence? You would 
 hate to be poor, and so should I. I do not understand the 
 verb ' to love,' — now and then when I read a book by Mavis 
 Clare, I believe love may exist, but when I close the book 
 my belief is shut up with it. So do not ask for what is not in 
 me. I am willing — even glad to marry you ; that is all you 
 must expect." 
 
 " All !" I exclaimed, with a sudden mingling of love and 
 wrath in my blood, as I closed my arms about her, and kissed 
 her passionately. "All ! — you impassive ice-flower, it is not 
 all ! — you shall melt to my touch and learn what love is, — 
 do not think you can escape its influence, you dear, foolish, 
 beautiful child ! Your passions are asleep, — they must wake ! ' ' 
 
 " For you?" she queried, resting her head back against my 
 shoulder, and gazing up at me with a dreamy radiance in her 
 lovely eyes. 
 
 "Forme!" 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " ' Oh, bid me love, and I will love !' " she hummed softly 
 under her breath. 
 
 " You will, you must, you shall !" I said ardently. " I will 
 be your master in the art of loving !" 
 
 " It is a difficult art !" she said. "I am afraid it will take 
 a life-time to complete my training, even with my ' master.' " 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 203 
 
 And a smile still lingered in her eyes, giving them a witch- 
 like glamour, when I kissed her again and bade her good-night. 
 
 *' You will tell Prince Rimanez the news ?" she said. 
 
 **If you wish it." 
 
 " Of course I wish it. Tell him at once. I should like 
 him to know." 
 
 I went down the stairs, — she leaned over the balustrade 
 looking after me. 
 
 " Good-night, Geoffrey !" she called softly. 
 
 "Good-night, Sibyl!" 
 
 " Be sure you tell Prince Rimanez !" 
 
 Her white figure disappeared ; and I walked out of the 
 house in a chaotic state of mind, divided between pride, 
 ecstasy and pain, — the engaged husband of an earl's daughter, 
 — the lover of a woman who had declared herself incapable 
 of love, and destitute of faith. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Looking back through the space of only three years to this 
 particular period of my life, I can remember distinctly the 
 singular expression of Lucio's face when I told him that Sibyl 
 Elton had accepted me. His sudden smile gave a light to his 
 eyes that I had never seen in them before, — a brilliant yet 
 sinister glow, strangely suggestive of some inwardly suppressed 
 wrath and scorn. While I spoke he was, to my vexation, 
 toying with that uncanny favourite of his, the 'mummy-insect,' 
 — and it annoyed me beyond measure to see the repulsive per- 
 tinacity with which the glittering bat-like creature clung to his 
 hand. 
 
 ''Women are all alike," he said with a hard laugh, when 
 he had heard my news. "Few of them have moral force 
 enough to resist that temptation of a rich marriage." 
 
 I was irritated at this. 
 
204 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 " It is scarcely fair of you to judge everything by the money- 
 standard," I said, — then, after a little pause, 1 added what in 
 my own heart I knew to be a lie, — "She — Sibyl — loves me 
 for myself alone." 
 
 His glance flashed over me like lightning. 
 
 *' Oh ! — sets the wind in that quarter. Why, then, my dear 
 Geoffrey, I congratulate you more heartily than ever. To 
 conquer the affections of one of the proudest girls in England, 
 and win her love so completely as to be sure she would marry 
 you even if you had not a sou to bless yourself with — this is 
 a victory indeed ! — and one of which you may well be proud. 
 Again and yet again I congratulate you !" 
 
 Tossing the horrible thing he called his ' sprite' off to fly 
 on one of its slow humming circuits round the room, he shook 
 my hand fervently, still smiling, — and I, — feeling instinctively 
 that he was as fully aware of the truth as I was, namely, that 
 had I been a poor author with nothing but what I could earn 
 by my brains, the Lady Sibyl Elton would never have looked 
 at me, much less agreed to marry me, — kept silence lest I 
 should openly betray the reality of my position. 
 
 ''You see," he went on, with a cheerful relentlessness, 
 "I was not aware that any old-world romance graced the 
 disposition of one so apparently impassive as your beautiful 
 fiancee. To love for love's sake only, is becoming really an 
 obsolete virtue. I thought Lady Sibyl was an essentially 
 modern woman, conscious of her position, and the necessity 
 there was for holding that position proudly before the world 
 at all costs, — and that the pretty pastoral sentiments of poet- 
 ical Phyllises and Amandas had no place in her nature. I 
 was wrong, it seems ; and for once I have been mistaken in 
 the fair sex !" Here he stretched out his hand to the ' sprite,' 
 that now came winging its way back, and settled at once on 
 its usual resting-place. "My friend, I assure you, if you 
 have won a true woman's true love, you have a far greater 
 fortune than your millions, — a treasure that none can afford 
 to despise." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 205 
 
 His voice softened, — his eyes grew dreamy and less scorn- 
 ful, — and I looked at him in some astonishment. 
 
 " Why Liicio, I thought you hated women !" 
 
 '' So I do !" he replied quickly. '' But do not forget why 
 I hate them ! It is because they have all the world's possi- 
 bilities of good in their hands, and the majority of them 
 deliberately turn these possibilities to evil. Men are in- 
 fluenced entirely by women, though few of them will own 
 it, — through women they are lifted to heaven or driven to 
 hell. The latter is the favourite course, and the one almost 
 universally adopted." 
 
 His brow darkened, and the lines round his proud mouth 
 grew hard and stern. I watched him for a moment, — then 
 with sudden irrelevancy I said — 
 
 "Put that abominable 'sprite' of yours away, will you? I 
 hate to see you with it !" 
 
 "What, my poor Egyptian princess!" he exclaimed with 
 a laugh. " Why so cruel to her, Geoffrey? If you had lived 
 in her day, you might have been one of her lovers ! She was 
 no doubt a charming person, — I find her charming still ! 
 However, to oblige you — " and here, placing the insect in 
 its crystal receptacle, he carried it away to the other end of 
 the room. Then, returning towards me slowly, he said, 
 " Who knows what the ' sprite' suffered as a woman, Geoffrey ! 
 Perhaps she made a rich marriage, and repented it ! At any- 
 rate I am sure she is much happier in her present condition." 
 
 "I have no sympathy with such a ghastly fancy," I said 
 abruptly. " I only know that she or // is a perfectly loathsome 
 object to me." 
 
 "Well, — some 'transmigrated' souls ai'e loathsome objects 
 to look at," he declared imperturbably. "When they are 
 deprived of their respectable tw^o-legged fleshly covering, it 
 is extraordinary what a change the inexorable law of Nature 
 makes in them !" 
 
 "What nonsense you talk, Lucio!" I said impatiently. 
 " How can you know anything about it !" 
 
 18 
 
2o6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 A sudden shadow passed over his face, giving it a strange 
 pallor and impenetrability. 
 
 "Have you forgotten," he said in deliberately measured 
 accents, " that your friend John Carrington, when he wrote 
 that letter of introduction I brought from him to you, told 
 you in it, that in all matters scientific I was an 'absolute 
 master' ? In these ' matters scientific' you have not tested 
 my skill, — yet you ask — ' how can I know?' I answer that 
 I do know — many things of which you are ignorant. Do 
 not presume too much on your own intellectual capability, 
 my friend, — lest I prove it naught ! — lest I demonstrate to 
 you, beyond all possibility of consoling doubt, that the shreds 
 and strippings of that change you call death, are only so many 
 embryos of new life which you must live, whether you will or 
 no!" 
 
 Somewhat abashed by his words and still more by his man- 
 ner, I said — 
 
 '' Pardon me ! — I spoke in haste of course, — but you know 
 my theories — " 
 
 '*Most thoroughly!" and he laughed, with an immediate 
 resumption of his old manner. " ' Everyman his own theory' 
 is the fashionable motto of the hour. Each little biped tells 
 you that he has his 'own idea' of God, and equally 'his 
 own' idea of the Devil. It is very droll ! But let us return 
 to the theme of love. I feel I have not congratulated you 
 half enough, — for surely Fortune favours you singularly. 
 Out of the teeming mass of vain and frivolous femininity, you 
 have secured a unique example of beauty, truth and purity, — 
 a woman, who apart from all self-interest and worldly advan- 
 tage, weds you, with five millions, for yourself alone ! The 
 prettiest poem in the world could be made out of such an 
 exquisitely innocent maiden type ! You are one of the 
 luckiest men alive ; in fact, you have nothing more to wish 
 for." 
 
 I did not contradict him, though in my own mind I felt 
 that the circumstances of my engagement left much to be 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 207 
 
 desired. I, who scoffed at religion, wished it had formed 
 part of the character of my future wife. I, who sneered at 
 sentiment, craved for some expression of it in the woman 
 whose beauty attracted my desires. However, I determinedly 
 smothered all the premonitions of my own conscience, and 
 accepted what each day of my idle and useless life brought 
 me without considering future consequences. 
 
 The papers soon had the news that ' ' a marriage has been 
 arranged and will shortly take place between Sibyl, only 
 daughter of the Earl of Elton, and Geoffrey Tempest, the 
 famous millionaire." Not 'famous author,' mark you! — 
 though I was still being loudly 'boomed.' Morgeson, my 
 publisher, could offer me no consolation as to my chances of 
 winning and keeping a steady future fame. The Tenth Edition 
 of my book was announced, but we had not actually disposed 
 of more than two thousand copies, including a One-Volume 
 issue which had been hastily thrust on the market. And the 
 work I had so mercilessly and maliciously slated, — "Differ- 
 ences" by Mavis Clare, — was in its thirtieth thousand ! I 
 commented on this with some anger to Morgeson, who was 
 virtuously aggrieved at my complaint. 
 
 " Dear me, Mr Tempest, you are not the only writer who 
 has been ' boomed' by the press and who, nevertheless, does 
 not sell, ' ' he exclaimed. ' ' No one can account for the caprices 
 of the public ; they are entirely beyond the most cautious pub- 
 lisher's control or calculation. Miss Clare is a sore subject to 
 many authors besides yourself, — she always ' takes' and no one 
 can help it. I sympathize with you in the matter heartily, but 
 I am not to blame. At anyrate the reviewers are all with 
 you, — their praise has been almost unanimous. Now Mavis 
 Clare's ' Differences,' though to my thinking a very brilliant 
 and powerful book, has been literally cut to pieces whenever 
 it has been noticed at all, — and yet the public go for her and 
 don't go for you. It isn't my fault. You see people have 
 got Compulsory Education now, and I'm afraid they begin to 
 mistrust criticism, preferring to form their own independent 
 
2o8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 opinions ; if this is so, of course it will be a terrible thing, 
 because the most carefully organized clique in the world will 
 be powerless. Everything has been done for you that can be 
 done, Mr Tempest, — I am sure I regret as much as yourself 
 that the result has not been all you expected or desired. Many 
 authors would not care so much for the public approval ; the 
 applause of cultured journalism such as you have obtained, 
 would be more than sufficient for them." 
 
 I laughed bitterly. * The applause of cultured journalism !' 
 I thought I knew something of the way in which such applause 
 was won. Almost I began to hate m.y millions, — golden trash 
 that could only secure me the insincere flattery of fair-weather 
 friends, — and that could not give me fame, — such fame as has 
 sometimes been grasped in a moment by a starving and neg- 
 lected genius, who in the very arms of death, succeeds in 
 mastering the world. One day in a fit of disappointment and 
 petulance I said to Lucio — 
 
 *'You have not kept all your promises, my friend I — you 
 told me you could give me fame !" 
 
 He looked at me curiously. 
 
 " Did I? Well, — and are you not famous ?'* 
 
 " No. I am merely notorious," I retorted. 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 ** The word fame, my good Geoffrey, traced to its origin, 
 means a ' breath' — the breath of popular adulation. You have 
 that — for your wealth. " 
 
 * ' But not for my work ! ' ' 
 
 " You have the praise of the reviewers !" 
 
 '' What is that worth !" 
 
 ''Everything!" he answered smiling — '* in the reviewers' 
 own opinion !" 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 ''You speak of work," he went on. " Now the nature of 
 work I cannot exactly express, because it is a divine thing and 
 is judged by a divine standard. One must consider in all work 
 two things ; first, the object for which it is undertaken, and 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 209 
 
 secondly the way in which it is performed. All work should 
 have a high and unselfish intent, — without this, it perishes and 
 is not considered work at all, — not at least by the eternal judges 
 invisible. If it is work, truly and nobly done in every sense 
 of the word, it carries with it its own reward, and the laurels 
 descend from heaven, shaped ready for wearing, — no earthly 
 power can bestow them. I cannot give you that fame, — but I 
 have secured you a very fair imitation of it." 
 
 I was obliged to acquiesce, though more or less morosely, 
 — whereat I saw that he was somewhat amused. Unwilling 
 to incur his contempt, I said no more concerning the subject 
 that was the sorest to my heart, and wore out many sleepless 
 hours at night in trying to write a new book, — something novel 
 and daring, such as should force the public to credit me with 
 a little loftier status than that obtained by the possession of a 
 huge banking account. But the creative faculty seemed dead 
 in me, — I was crushed by a sense of impotence and failure ; 
 vague ideas were in my brain that would not lend themselves 
 to expression in words, — and such a diseased love of hyper- 
 criticism controlled me, that after a miserably nervous analysis 
 of every page I wrote, I tore it up as soon as it was written, 
 thus reducing myself to a state of mind that was almost 
 unbearable. 
 
 Early in April I made my first visit to Willowsmere, having 
 received information from the head of the firm of decorators 
 and furnishers employed there, that their work was close on 
 completion, and that they would be glad of a visit of inspec- 
 tion from me. Lucio and I went down together for the day, 
 and as the train rushed through a green and smiling landscape, 
 bearing us away from the smoke, dirt and noise of the restless 
 modern Babylon, I was conscious of a gradually deepening 
 peace and pleasure. The first sight of the place I had reck- 
 lessly purchased without so much as looking at it, filled me 
 with delight and admiration. It was a beautiful old house, 
 ideally English, and suggestive of home-happiness. Ivy and 
 jessamine clung to its red walls and picturesque gables, — 
 o 18* 
 
2IO THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 through the long vista of the exquisitely wooded grounds, the 
 silver gleam of the Avon river could be discerned, twisting in 
 and out like a ribbon tied in true love-knots, — the trees and 
 shrubs were sprouting forth in all their fresh spring beauty, — 
 the aspect of the country was indescribably bright and sooth- 
 ing, and I began to feel as if a burden had been suddenly lifted 
 from my life, leaving me free to breathe and enjoy my liberty. 
 I strolled from room to room of my future abode, admiring 
 the taste and skill with which the whole place had been fitted 
 and furnished, down to the smallest detail of elegance, comfort 
 and convenience. Here my Sibyl was born, I thought, with a 
 lover-like tenderness, — here she would dwell again as my wife, 
 amid the lovely and beloved surroundings of her childhood, — 
 and we should be happy — yes, we should be happy, despite 
 all the dull and heartless social doctrines of the modern world. 
 In the spacious and beautiful drawing-room I stopped to look 
 out from the windows on the entrancing view of lawn and 
 woodland that stretched before me, — and as I looked, a warm 
 sense of gratitude and affection filled me for the friend to 
 whose good offices I owed this fair domain. Turning, I 
 grasped him by the hand. 
 
 ''It is all your doing, Lucio !" I said. " I feel I can never 
 thank you enough ! Without you I should perhaps never 
 have met Sibyl, — I might never have heard of her, or of 
 Willowsmere ; and I never could have been as happy as I am 
 to-day!" 
 
 " Oh, you are happy then?" he queried with a little smile. 
 '' I fancied you were not !" 
 
 *' Well — I have not been as happy as I expected to be," I 
 confessed. ''Something in my sudden accession to wealth 
 seems to have dragged me down rather than lifted me up, — 
 it is strange " 
 
 "It is not strange at all," he interrupted; "on the con- 
 trary it is very natural. As a rule the most miserable people 
 in the world are the rich." 
 
 "Are you miserable, for instance?" I asked, smiling. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 211 
 
 His eyes rested on me with a dark and dreary pathos. 
 
 'S\re you too blind to see that I am?" he answered, his 
 accents vibrating with intense melancholy. *' Can you think 
 I am happy ? Does the smile I wear — the disguising smile 
 men put on as a mask to hide their secret agonies from the 
 pitiless gaze of unsympathetic fellow-creatures — persuade you 
 that I am free from care ? As for my wealth, I have never 
 told you the extent of it ; if I did, it might indeed amaze 
 you, though I believe it would not now arouse your envy, 
 considering that your trifling five millions have not been 
 without effect in depressing your mind. But I, — I could 
 buy up kingdoms, and be none the poorer, — I could throne 
 and unthrone kings, and be none the wiser, — I could crush 
 whole countries under the iron heel of financial specula- 
 tion, — I could possess the world, — and yet estimate it at 
 no higher value than I do now, — the value of a grain of 
 dust circling through infinity, or a soap-bubble blown on the 
 wind ! ' ' 
 
 His brows knitted, — his face expressed pride, scorn and 
 sorrow. 
 
 ''There is some mystery about you, Lucio," I said, — 
 "some grief or loss that your wealth cannot repair — and that 
 makes you the strange being you are. One day perhaps you 
 will confide in me ..." 
 
 He laughed loudly, — almost fiercely ; — and clapped me 
 heavily on the shoulder — 
 
 *' I will !" he said. '' I will tell you my history ! And you, 
 excellent agnostic as you are, shall ' minister to a mind dis- 
 eased,' and 'pluck out the memory of a rooted sorrow!' 
 What a power of expression there was in Shakespeare, the 
 uncrowned but actual King of England ! Not the ' rooted 
 sorrow' alone was to be ' plucked out,' but the very ' memory' 
 of it. The apparently simple line holds complex wisdom; 
 no doubt the poet knew, or instinctively guessed the most 
 terrible fact in all the Universe ..." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
212 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *'The eternal consciousness of Memory," he replied. 
 ^' God can not forget, — and, in consequence of this, His 
 creatures may not ! ' ' 
 
 I forbore to reply, but I suppose my face betrayed my 
 thoughts, for the cynical smile I knew so well played round 
 his mouth as he looked at me. 
 
 " I go beyond your patience, do I not !" he said, laughing 
 again. ''When I mention God, — who is declared by certain 
 scientists to be non-existent except as a blind, indifferent 
 natural Force or Atom-producer, — you are bored ! I can 
 see that at a glance. Pray forgive me ! Let us resume our 
 tour of inspection through this charming abode. You will 
 be very difficult to satisfy if you are not a very emperor of 
 contentment here ; — with a beautiful wife and plenty of cash, 
 you can well afford to give ' fame' the go-by." 
 
 *'I may win it yet!" I said hopefully. "In this place, I 
 feel I could write something worthy of being written." 
 
 " Good ! The 'divine flutterings' of winged thoughts are 
 in your brain ! Apollo grant them strength to fly ! And 
 now let us have luncheon, — afterwards we shall have time 
 to take a stroll." 
 
 In the dining-room I found an elegant repast prepared 
 which rather surprised me, as I had given no orders, having 
 indeed forgotten to do so. Lucio, however, had, it appeared, 
 not forgotten, and an advance telegram from him had placed 
 certain caterers at Leamington on their mettle, with the result 
 that we sat down to a feast as delicate and luxurious as any 
 two epicures could desire. 
 
 " Now I want you to do me a favour, Cxcoffrey," said Lucio, 
 during our luncheon. " You will scarcely need to reside here 
 till after your marriage ; you have too many engagements in 
 town. You spoke of entertaining a big house-party down 
 here, — I wouldn't do that if I were you, — it isn't worth while. 
 You would have to get in a staff of servants, and leave them 
 all afterwards to their own devices while you are on your 
 honeymoon. This is what I propose, — give a grand fete here 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 213 
 
 in honour of your betrothal to Lady Sibyl, in May, and let 
 me be the master of the revels !" 
 
 I was in the mood to agree to anything, — moreover the 
 idea seemed an excellent one. I said so and Rimanez went 
 on quickly — 
 
 "You understand, of course, that if I undertake to do a 
 thing I always do it thoroughly, and brook no interference 
 with my plans. Now as your marriage will be the signal for 
 our parting, — at any rate for a time,— I should like to show 
 my appreciation of your friendship, by organizing a brilliant 
 affair of the kind I suggest, — and if you will leave it all to me 
 I guarantee you shall hold such a fete as has never been seen 
 or known in England. And it will be a personal satisfaction 
 to me if you consent to my proposal." 
 
 ''My dear fellow, " I answered, *'of course I consent — 
 willingly ! I give you ca7'te blanche, — do as you like ; do all 
 you like ! It is most friendly and kind of you ! But when 
 are we to make this sensation ?' ' 
 
 *' You are to be married in June?" he asked. 
 
 ''Yes, — in the second week of the month." 
 
 "Very well. The fete shall be held on the twenty-second 
 of May, — that will give society time to recover from the effect 
 of one burst of splendour in order to be ready for another, — 
 namely, the wedding. Now we need not talk of this any more 
 — it is settled, — the rest devolves on me. We've got three or 
 four hours to spare before we take the train back to town, — 
 suppose we take a saunter through the grounds?" 
 
 I assented to this, and accompanied him readily, feeling in 
 high spirits and good humour. Willowsmere and its peaceful 
 loveliness seemed to cleanse my mind of all corroding in- 
 fluences ; — the blessed silence of the woods and hills, after 
 the rush and roar of town life, soothed and cheered me, and I 
 walked beside my companion with a light heart and smiling 
 face, — happy, and filled with a dim religious faith in the blue 
 sky, if not in the God beyond it. We sauntered through the 
 fair gardens which were now mine, and then out through the 
 
214 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 park into a lovely little lane, — a true Warwickshire lane, 
 where the celandines were strewing the grass with their bright 
 gold coinage, and the star-wort thrust up fairy bouquets of 
 white bloom between buttercups and clover, and where the 
 hawthorn buds were beginning to show themselves like minute 
 snow-pellets among the glossy young green. A thrush warbled 
 melodiously, — a lark rose from almost our very feet and flung 
 itself joyously into the sky with a wild outburst of song, — a 
 robin hopped through a little hole in the hedge to look at us 
 in blithe inquisitiveness as we passed. All at once Lucio 
 stopped and laid his hand on my shoulder, — his eyes had the 
 beautiful melancholy of a far-off longing which I could neither 
 understand nor define. 
 
 *' Listen, Geoffrey !" he said. '' Listen to the silence of the 
 earth while the lark sings ! Have you ever observed the 
 receptive attitude in which Nature seems to wait for sounds 
 divine !" 
 
 I did not answer, — the silence around us was indeed im- 
 pressive; — the warbling of the thrush had ceased, and only 
 the lark's clear voice pealing over-head echoed sweetly 
 through the stillness of the lane. 
 
 *' In the clerical Heaven," went on Lucio dreamily, ** there 
 are no birds. There are only conceited human souls bray- 
 ing forth 'Alleluia'! No flowers are included, — no trees; 
 only ' golden streets. ' What a poor and barbarous concep- 
 tion ! As if a World inhabited by Deity would not contain 
 the wonders, graces and beauties of all worlds ! Even this 
 little planet is more naturally beautiful than the clerical 
 Heaven, — that is, it is beautiful wherever Man is not. I 
 protest — I have always protested — against the creation of 
 Man!" 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 '' You protest against your own existence then !" I said. 
 
 His eyes darkened slowly to a sombre brooding blackness. 
 
 *' When the sea roars and flings itself in anger on the shore, 
 it craves its prey — Mankind ! It seeks to wash the fair earth 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 215 
 
 clean of the puny insect that troubles the planet's peace ! It 
 drowns the noxious creature when it can, with the aid of its 
 sympathizing comrade the wind ! When the thunder crashes 
 down a second after the lightning, does it not seem to you 
 that the very clouds combine in the holy war? — the war 
 against God's one mistake ; — the making of humanity, — the 
 effort to sweep it out of the universe as one erases a weak 
 expression in an otherwise perfect Poem ! You and I, for 
 example, are the only discords in to-day's woodland harmony. 
 We are not particularly grateful for life, — we certainly are not 
 content wilh it, — we have not the innocence of a bird or a 
 flower. We have more knowledge, you will say, — but how can 
 we be sure of that? Our wisdom came from the devil in the 
 first place, according to the legend of the tree of knowledge, 
 — the fruit of which taught both good and evil, but which still 
 apparently persuades man to evil rather than good, and leads 
 him on to a considerable amount of arrogance besides, for he 
 has an idea he will be immortal as a god in the hereafter, — 
 ye majestic Heavens ! — what an inadequately stupendous fate 
 for a grain of worthless dust, — a dwarfish atom such as he !" 
 
 *' Well, /have no ideas of immortality," I said. "I have 
 told you that often. This life is enough for me, — I want and 
 expect no other." 
 
 "Aye, but if there were another!" answered Lucio, fixing 
 me with a steady look. ''And — if you were not asked your 
 opinion about it — but simply plunged headlong into a state 
 of terrible consciousness of which you would rather not 
 be " 
 
 ''Oh come," I said impatiently, *' do not let us theorize! 
 I am happy to-day ! — my heart is as light as that of the bird 
 singing m the sky ; I am in the very best of humours, and 
 could not say an unkind word to my worst enemy." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 *'Is that your humour?" and he took me by the arm. 
 " Then there could be no better opportunity for showing you 
 this pretty little corner of the world, ' ' — and walking on a few 
 
2i6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 yards, he dexterously turned me down a narrow path, leading 
 from the lane, and brought me face to face with a lovely old 
 cottage, almost buried in the green of the young spring ver- 
 dure, and surrounded by an open fence overgrown with haw- 
 thorn and sweet-brier. "Keep firm hold over your temper 
 Geoffrey, — and maintain the benignant tranquillity of your 
 mind ! — here dwells the woman whose name and fame you 
 hate,— Mavis Clare!" 
 
 XIX 
 
 The blood rushed to my face, and I stopped abruptly. 
 
 *' Let us go back," I said. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I do not know Miss Clare and do not want to 
 know her. Literary women are my abhorrence, — they are 
 always more or less unsexed." 
 
 "You are thinking of the 'New' women I suppose, — but 
 you flatter them, — they never had any sex to lose. The self- 
 degrading creatures who delineate their fictional heroines as 
 wallowing in unchastity, and who write freely on subjects 
 which men would hesitate to name, are unnatural hybrids of 
 no-sex. Mavis Clare is not one of them, — she is an ^ old- 
 fa.shioned' young woman. Mademoiselle Derino, the dancer, 
 is ' unsexed,' but you did not object to her on that score ; on 
 the contrary I believe you have shown your appreciation of her 
 talents by spending a considerable amount of cash upon her." 
 
 " That's not a fair comparison," I answered hotly. " Mad- 
 emoiselle Derino amused me for a time." 
 
 " And was not your rival in art !" said Lucio with a little 
 malicious smile. " I see ! Still, as far as the question of being 
 * unsexed' goes, I personally consider that a woman who shows 
 the power of her intellect is more to be respected than the 
 woman who shows the power of her legs. But men always 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 217 
 
 prefer the legs, — just as they prefer the devil to the Deity. All 
 the same, I think, as we have time to spare, we may as well see 
 this genius." 
 
 '' Genius !" I echoed contemptuously. 
 
 ** Feminine twaddler, then !" he suggested, laughing. " Let 
 us see this feminine twaddler. She will no doubt prove as 
 amusing as Mademoiselle Derino in her way. I shall ring the 
 bell and ask if she is at home." 
 
 He advanced towards the creeper-covered porch, — but I 
 stood back, mortified and sullen, determined not to accompany 
 him inside the house if he were admitted. Suddenly a blithe 
 peal of musical laughter sounded through the air, and a clear 
 voice exclaimed — 
 
 ''Oh, Tricksy^ You wicked boy! Take it back directly, 
 and apologize I" 
 
 Lucio peered through the fence, and then beckoned to me 
 energetically. 
 
 " There she is !" he whispered. " There is the dyspeptic, 
 sour, savage old blue-stocking, — there, on the lawn, — by 
 Heaven ! — she's enough to strike terror into the heart of any 
 man — and millionaire ! ' ' 
 
 I looked where he pointed, and saw nothing but a fair- 
 haired girl in a white gown, sitting in a low basket-chair, with 
 a tiny toy terrier on her lap. The terrier was jealously guard- 
 ing a large square dog-biscuit nearly as big as himself, and at 
 a little distance off sat a magnificent rough-coated St Bernard, 
 wagging his feathery tail to and fro, with every sign of good- 
 humour and enjoyment. The position was evident at a glance, 
 — the small dog had taken his huge companion's biscuit from 
 him and had conveyed it to his mistress, — a canine joke which 
 seemed to be appreciated and understood by all the parties 
 concerned. But as I watched the little group, I did not be- 
 lieve that the woman I saw was Mavis Clare. That small head 
 was surely never made for the wearing of deathless laurels, but 
 rather for a garland of roses (sweet and perishable) twined by 
 a lover's hand. No such slight feminine creature as the one 
 K 19 
 
2i8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 I now looked upon could ever be capable of the intellectual 
 grasp and power of ' Differences,' the book I secretly admired 
 and wondered at, but which I had anonymously striven to 
 ' quash' in its successful career. The writer of such a work, I 
 imagined, must needs be of a more or less strong physique, 
 with pronounced features and an impressive personality. This 
 butterfly thing, playing with her dog, was no type of a ' blue- 
 stocking,' and I said as much to Lucio. 
 
 "That cannot be Miss Clare," I said. "More likely a 
 visitor, — or perhaps the companion-secretary. The novelist 
 must be very different in appearance to that frivolous young 
 person in white, whose dress is distinctly Parisian, and who 
 seems to have nothing whatever to do but amuse herself." 
 
 "Tricksy!" said the clear voice again, "take back the 
 biscuit and apologize !" 
 
 The tiny terrier looked round with an innocently abstracted 
 air, as if in the earnestness of his own thoughts he had not 
 quite caught the meaning of the sentence. 
 
 " Tricksy !" and the voice became more imperative, " take 
 it back and apologize ! ' ' 
 
 With a comical expression of resignation to circumstances, 
 * Tricksy' seized the large biscuit, and holding it in his teeth 
 with gingerly care, jumped from his mistress's knee, and trot- 
 ting briskly up to the St Bernard who was still wagging his tail 
 and smiling as visibly as dogs often can smile, restored his 
 stolen goods with three short yapping barks, as much as to say 
 "There! take it!" The St Bernard rose in all his majestic 
 bulk and sniffed at it, — then sniffed his small friend, apparently 
 in dignified doubt as to which was terrier and which was bis- 
 cuit, — then lying down again he gave himself up to the pleasure 
 of munching his meal, the while ' Tricksy' with wild barks 
 of delight performed a sort of mad war-dance round and round 
 him by way of entertainment. This piece of dog-comedy 
 was still going on, when Lucio turned away from his point of 
 observation at the fence, and going up to the gate, rang the 
 bell. A neat maid-servant answered the summons. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 219 
 
 *' Is Miss Clare at home ?" he asked. 
 
 '* Yes, sir. But I am not sure whether she will receive 
 you," the maid replied, ''unless you have an appoint- 
 ment !" 
 
 *'We have no appointment," said Lucio, — ''but if you 
 will take these cards, — " here he turned to me, — " Geoffrey, 
 give me one of yours !" I complied, somewhat reluctantly. 
 " If you will take these cards," he resumed, " to Miss Clare, 
 it is just possible she may be kind enough to see us. If not, 
 it will be our loss." 
 
 He spoke so gently, and with such an ingratiating manner, 
 that I could see the servant was at once prepossessed in his 
 favour. 
 
 " Step in, sir, if you please," she said smiling, and open- 
 ing the gate. He obeyed with alacrity, and I, who a moment 
 ago had resolved not to enter the place, found myself passively 
 following him under an archway of sprouting young leaves and 
 early budding jessamine into * Lily Cottage' — which was to 
 prove one day, though I knew it not then, the only haven of 
 peace and security I should ever crave for, — and, craving, be 
 unable to win ! 
 
 The house was much larger than it looked from the outside ; 
 the entrance-hall was square and lofty and panelled with fine 
 old carved oak, and the drawing-room into which we were 
 shown was one of the most picturesque and beautiful apart- 
 ments I had ever seen. There were flowers everywhere, — 
 books, — rare bits of china, — elegant trifles that only a woman 
 of perfect taste would have the sense to select and appreciate, 
 — on one or two of the side-tables and on the grand piano were 
 autograph-portraits of many of the greatest celebrities in 
 Europe. Lucio strolled about the room, making soft com- 
 ments. 
 
 *'Here is the Autocrat of all the Russias," he said, pausing 
 before a fine portrait of the Tsar. "Signed by the Imperial 
 hand too. Now what has the ' feminine twaddler' done to 
 deserve that honour I wonder ! Here, in strange contrast, 
 
2 20 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 is the wild-haired Paderewski, — and beside him the perennial 
 Patti, — there is Her Majesty of Italy, and here we have 
 H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, — all autographed likenesses. 
 Upon my word. Miss Clare seems to attract a great many 
 notabilities around her without the aid of hard cash. I 
 wonder how she does it, Geoffrey ?' ' and his eyes sparkled 
 half maliciously. *' Can it be a case of genius after all ? Look 
 at those lilies !" and he pointed to a mass of white bloom in 
 one of the windows. "Are they not far more beautiful crea- 
 tures than men and women ? Dumb — yet eloquent of purity ! 
 — no wonder the painters choose them as the only flowers 
 suitable for the adornment of angels." 
 
 As he spoke the door opened, and the girl we had seen on 
 the lawn entered, carrying her toy terrier on one arm. • Was 
 she Mavis Clare ? or some one sent to say that the novelist 
 could not receive us ? I wondered silently, looking at her in 
 surprise and something of confusion, — Lucio advanced with 
 an odd mingling of humility and appeal in his manner which 
 was new to me. 
 
 ''We must apologize for our intrusion, Miss Clare," he 
 said. *' But happening to pass your house, we could not resist 
 
 making an attempt to see you. My name is Rimanez," — 
 
 he hesitated oddly for a second, then went on — ''and this is 
 my friend Mr Geoffrey Tempest, the author — — " The girl 
 raised her eyes to mine with a little smile and courteous bend 
 of her head. " He has, as I daresay you know, become the 
 owner of Willowsmere Court. You will be neighbours and 
 I hope friends. In any case, if we have committed a breach 
 of etiquette in venturing to call upon you without previous 
 introduction, you must try and forgive us ! It is difficult — 
 to me impossible — to pass the dwelling of a celebrity without 
 offering homage to the presiding genius within." 
 
 Mavis Clare — for it was Mavis Clare — seemed not to have 
 heard the intended compliment. 
 
 "You are very welcome," she said simply, advancing with 
 a pretty grace, and extending her hand to each of us in turn. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 221 
 
 ** I am quite accustomed to visits from strangers. But I 
 already know Mr Tempest very well by reputation. Won't 
 you sit down ?' ' 
 
 She motioned us to chairs in the lily-decked window-corner, 
 and rang the bell. Her maid appeared. 
 
 ''Tea, Janet." 
 
 This order given, she seated herself near us, still holding 
 her little dog curled up against her like a small ball of silk. 
 1 tried to converse, but could find nothing suitable to say, — 
 the sight of her filled me with too great a sense of self- 
 reproach and shame. She was such a quiet graceful creature, 
 so slight and dainty, so perfectly unaffected and simple in 
 manner, that as I thought of the slaughtering article I had 
 written against her work I felt like a low brute who had been 
 stoning a child. And yet, — after all it was her genius I hated, 
 — the force and passion of that mystic quality which wherever 
 it appears, compels the world's attention, — this was the gift 
 she had that I lacked and coveted. Moved by the most 
 conflicting sensations, I gazed abstractedly out on the shady 
 old garden, — I heard Lucio conversing on trifling matters of 
 society and literature generally, and every now and then her 
 bright laugh rang out like a little peal of bells. Soon I felt, 
 rather than saw, that she was looking steadily at me, and 
 turning, I met her eyes, — deep dense blue eyes, candidly grave 
 and clear. 
 
 "Is this your first visit to Willowsmere Court?" she asked. 
 
 '' Yes," I answered, making an effort to appear more at my 
 ease. ''Thought the place, — on the recommendation of my 
 friend the prince here,^-without looking at it." 
 
 " So I heard," she said, still observing me curiously. " And 
 you are satisfied with it ?' ' 
 
 " More than satisfied — I am delighted. It exceeds all my 
 best expectations." 
 
 " Mr Tempest is going to marry the daughter of the former 
 owner of Willowsmere," put in Lucio. "No doubt you 
 have seen it announced in the papers?" 
 
 19* 
 
2 22 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 '' Yes," she responded with a slight smile, " I have seen it, 
 and I think Mr Tempest is much to be congratulated. Lady 
 Sibyl is very lovely, — 1 remember her as a beautiful child when 
 I was a child myself. I never spoke to her, but I often saw 
 her. She must be charmed at the prospect of returning as a 
 bride to the old home she loved so well." 
 
 Here the servant entered with the tea, and Miss Clare, 
 putting down her tiny dog, went to the table to dispense it. 
 1 watched her move across the room with a sense of vague 
 wonder and reluctant admiration, — she rather resembled a 
 picture by Greuze, in her soft white gown with a pale rose 
 nestled amid the old Flemish lace at her throat, — and as she 
 turned her head towards us, the sunlight caught her fair hair 
 and turned it to the similitude of a golden halo circling her 
 brows. She was not a beauty ; but she possessed an undoubted 
 individual charm, — a delicate attractiveness, which silently 
 asserted itself, as the breath of honeysuckle hidden in the 
 tangles of a hedge will delight the wayfarer with sweet fra- 
 grance, though the flowers be unseen. 
 
 "Your book was very clever, Mr Tempest," she said sud- 
 denly, smiling at me. ** I read it as soon as it came out. But 
 do you know I think your article was even cleverer?" 
 
 I felt myself growing uncomfortably red in the face. 
 
 " To what article do you allude, Miss Clare?" I stammered 
 confusedly. ** I do not write for any magazine." 
 
 "No?" and she laughed gaily. "But you did on this 
 occasion! You 'slated' me very smartly? — I quite enjoyed 
 it. I found out that you were the author of the philippic, — 
 not through the editor of the journal — oh no, poor man ! he 
 is very discreet ; but through quite another person who must 
 be nameless. It is very difficult to prevent me from finding 
 out whatever I wish to know, especially in literary matters. 
 Why, you look quite unhappy!" and her blue eyes danced 
 with fun as she handed me my cup of tea. " You really don't 
 suppose I was hurt by your critique, do you ? Dear me, no ! 
 Nothing of that kind ever affronts me, — I am far too busy to 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 223 
 
 waste any thought on reviews or reviewers. Only your article 
 was so exceptionally funny !" 
 
 "Funny?" I echoed stupidly, trying to smile, but failing 
 in the effort. 
 
 " Yes, funny !" she repeated. '* It was so very angry that it 
 became amusing. My poor ' Differences !' I am really sorry 
 it put you into such a temper, — temper does exhaust one's 
 energies so !" 
 
 She laughed again, and sat down in her former place near 
 me, regarding me with a frankly open and half humorous 
 gaze which I found I could not meet with any sort of com- 
 posure. To say I felt foolish, would inadequately express my 
 sense of utter bafflement. This woman with her young un- 
 clouded face, sweet voice and evidently happy nature, was not 
 at all the creature I had imagined her to be, — and I struggled 
 to say something, — anything, — that would furnish a reason- 
 able and coherent answer. I caught Lucio's glance, — one of 
 satirical amusement, — and my thoughts grew more entangled 
 than ever. A distraction however occurred in the behaviour 
 of the dog Tricksy, who suddenly took up a position im- 
 mediately opposite Lucio, and lifting his nose in air began 
 to howl with a desolate loudness astonishing in so small an 
 animal. His mistress was surprised. 
 
 ''Tricksy, what /s the matter?" she exclaimed, catching 
 him up in her arms where he hid his face shivering and 
 moaning ; then she looked steadily at Lucio. ' ' I never knew 
 him do such a thing before," she said. *' Perhaps you do not 
 like dogs. Prince Rimanez?" 
 
 '* I am afraid they do not like me /" he replied deferentially. 
 
 " Then pray excuse me a moment," she murmured, and left 
 the room, to return immediately without her canine favourite. 
 After this I noticed that her blue eyes often rested on Lucio's 
 handsome countenance with a bewildered and perplexed ex- 
 pression, as if she saw something in his very beauty that she 
 disliked or distrusted. Meanwhile I had recovered a little of 
 my usual self-possession, and I addressed her in a tone which 
 
224 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 1 meant to be kind, but which I knew was somewhat 
 patronizing. 
 
 " I am very glad, Miss Clare, that you were not offended at 
 the article you speak of. It was rather strong I admit, — 
 but you know we cannot all be of the same opinion ..." 
 
 "Indeed no!" she said quietly and with a slight smile. 
 " Such a state of things would make a very dull world ! I 
 assure you I was not and am not in the least offended — the 
 critique was a smart piece of writing, and made not the 
 slightest effect on me or on my book. You remember what 
 Shelley wrote of critics? No? You will find the passage 
 in his preface to *The Revolt of Islam,' and it runs thus, — 
 ' I have sought to write as I believe that Homer, Shake- 
 speare, and Milton wrote, with an utter disregard of anony- 
 mous censure. I am certain that calumny and misrepresenta- 
 tion, though it may move me to compassion, cannot disturb 
 my peace. I shall understand the expressive silence of those 
 sagacious enemies who dare not trust themselves to speak. I 
 shall endeavour to extract from the midst of insult and con- 
 tempt and maledictions, those admonitions which may tend to 
 correct whatever imperfections such censurers may discern in 
 my appeal to the Public. If certain Critics were as clear- 
 sighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit 
 to be derived from their virulent writings ! As it is, I fear I 
 shall be malicious enough to be amused with their paltry tricks 
 and lame invectives. Should the public judge that my com- 
 position is worthless, I shall indeed bow before the tribunal 
 from which Milton received his crown of immortality, and 
 shall seek to gather, if I live, strength from that defeat, which 
 may nerve me to some new enterprise of thought which may 
 nc?/ be worthless ! ' " 
 
 As she gave the quotation, her eyes darkened and deep- 
 ened, her face was lighted up as by some inward illumina- 
 tion, and I discovered the rich sweetness of the voice which 
 made the name of ' Mavis' suit her so well. 
 
 *' You see I know my Shelley !" she said with a little laugh 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 225 
 
 at her own emotion. "And those words are particularly- 
 familiar to me, because I have had them painted up on a 
 panel in my study. Just to remind me, in case I should 
 forget, what the really great geniuses of the world thought 
 of criticism, — because their example is very encouraging and 
 helpful to a humble little worker like myself. I am not a 
 press- favourite — and I never get good reviews, — but — " and 
 she laughed again — " I like my reviewers all the same ! If 
 you have finished your tea will you come and see them?" 
 
 Come and see them ! What did she mean ? She seemed 
 delighted at my visible surprise, and her cheeks dimpled with 
 merriment. 
 
 ''Come and see them!" she repeated. " They generally 
 expect me at this hour ! ' ' 
 
 She led the way into the garden, — we followed, I, in a 
 bewildered confusion of mind, with all my ideas respecting 
 'unsexed females' and repulsive b'ue-stockings upset by the 
 unaffected behaviour and charming frankness of this ' celebrity' 
 whose fame I envied, and whose personality I could not but 
 admire. With all her intellectual gifts she was yet a lovable 
 
 woman, ah Mavis ! — how lovable and dear I was destined 
 
 in misery to know ! Mavis, Mavis ! —I whisper your sweet 
 name in my solitude, — I see you in my dreams, and kneeling 
 before you I call you Angel ! — my angel at the gate of a lost 
 Paradise, whose Sword of Genius, turning every way, keeps 
 me back from all approach to my forfeited Tree of Life ! 
 
 XX 
 
 Scarcely had we stepped out on the lawn before an un- 
 pleasant incident occurred which might have ended danger- 
 ously. At his mistress's approach the big St Bernard dog rose 
 from the sunny corner where he had been peacefully dozing, 
 and prepared to greet her, — but as soon as he perceived us 
 P 
 
226 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 he stopped short with an ominous growl. Before Miss Clare 
 could utter a warning word, he made a couple of huge bounds 
 and sprang savagely at Lucio as though to tear him in pieces. 
 Lucio with admirable presence of mind caught him firmly by 
 the throat and forced him backwards. Mavis turned deathly 
 pale. 
 
 " Let me hold him ! He will obey me !" she cried, placing 
 her little hand on the great dog's neck. '' Down, Emperor ! 
 Down ! How dare you ! Down sir ! " 
 
 In a moment * Emperor' dropped to the ground, and 
 crouched abjectly at her feet, breathing heavily and trembling 
 in every limb. She held him by the collar, and looked up at 
 Lucio who was perfectly composed, though his eyes flashed 
 dangerously. 
 
 '' I am so very sorry ! " she murmured. "I forgot, — you 
 told me dogs do not like you. But what a singularly marked 
 antipathy, is it not? I cannot understand it. Emperor is 
 generally so good-natured, — I must apologize for his bad con- 
 duct — it is quite unusual. I hope he has not liurt you?" 
 
 *' Not at all !" returned Lucio affably and with a cold smile. 
 ** I hope I have not hurt him, — or distressed j<??^ .^" 
 
 She made no reply, but led the St Bernard away and was 
 absent for a few minutes. While she was gone, Lucio' s brow 
 clouded, and his face grew very stern. 
 
 "■ What do you think of her?" he asked me abruptly. 
 
 "I hardly know what to think," I answered abstractedly. 
 '' She is very different to what I imagined. Her dogs are 
 rather unpleasant company ! " 
 
 ** They are honest animals!" he said morosely. ''They 
 are no 'doubt accustomed to candour in their mistress, and 
 therefore object to personified lies." 
 
 "Speak for yourself !" I said irritably. '' They object to 
 you, chiefly." 
 
 ''Am I not fully aware of that?" he retorted — "and do I 
 not speak for myself? You do not suppose I would call you 
 a personified lie, do you, — even if it were true ! I would not 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 227 
 
 be so uncivil. But I am a living lie, and knowing it I admit 
 it, which gives me a certain claim to honesty above the ordi- 
 nary run of men. This woman-wearer of laurels is a personi- 
 fied truth ! — imagine it ! — she has no occasion to pretend to 
 be anything else than she is ! No wonder she is famous !" 
 
 I said nothing, as just then the subject of our conversation 
 returned, tranquil and smiling, and did her best, with the tact 
 and grace of a perfect hostess, to make us forget her dog's 
 ferocious conduct, by escorting us through a 1 the prettiest 
 turns and twisting paths of her garden, which was quite a 
 bower of spring beauty. She talked to us both with equal 
 ease, brightness and cleverness, though I observed that she 
 studied Lucio with close interest, and watched his looks and 
 movements with more curiosity than liking. Passing under 
 an arching grove of budding syringas we presently came to an 
 open court-yard paved with blue and white tiles, having, in its 
 centre a picturesque dove-cote built in the form of a Chinese 
 pagoda. Here pausing. Mavis clapped her hands. A cloud 
 of doves, white, grey, brown, and opalescent, answered the 
 summons, circling round and round her head, and flying down 
 m excited groups at her feet. 
 
 *' Here are my reviewers !" she said laughing. ^' Are they 
 not pretty creatures? The ones I know best are named 
 after their respective journals, — there are plenty of anony- 
 mous ones of course, who flock in with the rest. Here, for 
 instance, is the 'Saturday Review,' " and she picked up a 
 strutting bird with coral-tinted feet, who seemed to rather like 
 the attention shown to him. ''He fights with all his com- 
 panions and drives them away from the food whenever he 
 can. He is such a quarrelsome creature !" — here she stroked 
 the bird's head. "You never know how to please him, — he 
 takes offence at the corn sometimes, and will only eat peas, or 
 vice versa. He quite deserves his name. — Go away, old boy !" 
 and she flung the pigeon in the air and watched it soaring up 
 and down. '' He is such a comical old grumbler ! There is 
 the ' Speaker,' " and she pointed to a fat fussy fan tail. " He 
 
228 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 struts very well, and fancies he's important, you know, but he 
 isn't. Over there is ' Public Opinion,' — that one half-asleep 
 on the wall ; next to him is the * Spectator,' — you see he has 
 two rings round his eyes like spectacles. That brown creature 
 with the fluffy wings all by himself on that flower-pot is the 
 * Nineteenth Century,' the little bird with the green neck is 
 the 'Westminster Gazette,' and the fat one sitting on the 
 platform of the cote is the * Pall-Mali. ' He knows his name 
 very well — see !" and she called merrily — " Pall-Mali ! Come 
 boy! — come here!" The bird obeyed at once, and flying 
 down from the cote, settled on her shoulder. *' There are so 
 many others, — it is difficult to distinguish them sometimes," 
 she continued. " Whenever I get a bad review I name a 
 pigeon, — it amuses me. That draggle-tailed one with the 
 muddy feet is the ' Sketch,' — he is not at all a well-bred bird 
 I must tell you ! — that smart-looking dove with the purple 
 breast is the 'Graphic,' and that bland old grey thing is the 
 'I. L. N.' short for 'Illustrated London News.' Those three 
 white ones are respectively 'Daily Telegraph,' 'Morning 
 Post,' and 'Standard.' Now see them all!" and taking a 
 covered basket from a corner she began to scatter corn and 
 peas and various grains in lavish quantities all over the court. 
 For a moment we could scarcely see the sky, so thickly the 
 birds flocked together, struggling, fighting, swooping down- 
 wards, and soaring upwards, — but the winged confusion soon 
 gave place to something like order when they were all on the 
 ground, and busy selecting their respective favourite foods from 
 the different sorts provided for their choice. 
 
 "You are indeed a sweet-natured philosopher," said Lucio 
 smiling, "if you can symbolize your adverse reviewers by a 
 flock of doves ! ' ' 
 
 She laughed merrily. 
 
 "Well, it is a remedy against all irritation," she returned. 
 " I used to worry a good deal over my work, and wonder why 
 it was that the press people were so unnecessarily hard upon 
 me, when they showed so much leniency and encouragement 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 229 
 
 to far worse writers, — but after a little serious consideration, 
 finding that critical opinion carried no sort of conviction 
 whatever to the public, I determined to trouble no more about 
 it, — except in the way of doves !" 
 
 "In the way of doves, you feed your reviewers," I ob- 
 served. 
 
 " Exactly ! And I suppose I help to feed them even as 
 women and men!" she said. "They get something from 
 their editors for 'slashing' my work, — and they probably 
 make a little more out of selling their 'review copies.' So 
 you see the dove-emblem holds good throughout. But 
 you have not seen the 'Athenaeum,' oh, you 7nust see 
 him!" 
 
 With laughter still lurking in her blue eyes, she took us out 
 of the pigeon-court, and led the way round to a sequestered 
 and shady corner of the garden, where, in a large aviary-cage 
 fitted up for its special convenience, sat a solemn white owl. 
 The instant it perceived us, it became angry, and ruffling up 
 its downy feathers, rolled its glistening yellow eyes vindictively 
 and opened its beak. Two smaller owls sat in the background, 
 pressed close together, — one grey, the other brown. 
 
 " Cross old boy !" said Mavis, addressing the spiteful-look- 
 ing creature in the sweetest of accents. " Haven't you found 
 any mice to kill to-day? Oh, what wicked eyes! — what a 
 snappy mouth !" Then turning to us, she went on — "Isn't 
 he a lovely owl? Doesn't he look wise? — but as a matter 
 of fact he's just as stupid as ever he can be. That is why 
 I call him the 'Athenaeum' ! He looks so profound, you'd 
 fancy he knows everything, — but he really thinks of nothing 
 but killing mice all the time, — which limits his intelligence 
 considerably !" 
 
 Lucio laughed heartily, and so did I, — she looked so mis- 
 chievous and merry. 
 
 "But there are two other owls in the cage," I said. 
 " What are their names ?' ' 
 
 She held up a little finger in playful warning. 
 
230 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *' Ah, that would be telling secrets !" she said. '' They're 
 all the 'Athenaeum' — the holy Three — a sort of literary 
 Trinity. But why a Trinity I do not venture to explain ! — 
 it is a riddle I must leave you to guess !" 
 
 She moved on, and we followed across a velvety grass-plot 
 bordered with bright spring-flowers, such as crocuses, tulips, 
 anemones, and hyacinths, and presently pausing she asked, 
 '' Would you care to see m)' work-room?" 
 
 I found myself agreeing to this proposition with an almost 
 boyish enthusiasm. Lucio glanced at me with a slight half- 
 cynical smile. 
 
 " Miss Clare, are you going to name a pigeon after Mr 
 Tempest?" he inquired. " He played the part of an adverse 
 critic, you know — but I doubt whether he will ever do so 
 again !" 
 
 She looked round at me and smiled. 
 
 ''Oh, I have been merciful to Mr Tempest," she replied. 
 " He is among the anonymous birds whom I do not specially 
 recognise !" 
 
 She stepped into the arched embrasure of an open window 
 which fronted the view of the grass and flowers, and entering 
 with her, we found ourselves in a large room, octagonal in 
 shape, where the first object that attracted and riveted the 
 attention was a marble bust of the Pallas Athene, whose grave 
 impassive countenance and iranquil brows directly faced the 
 sun. A desk strewn with papers occupied the left-hand side 
 of the window-nook, — in a corner draped with olive-green 
 velvet, the white presence of the Apollo Belvedere taught in 
 his inscrutable yet radiant smile, the lesson of love and the 
 triumphs of fame — and numbers of books were about, not 
 ranged in formal rows on shelves as if they were never read, 
 but placed on low tables and wheeled stands, that they might 
 be easily taken up and glanced at. The arrangement of the 
 walls chiefly excited my interest and admiration, for these 
 were divided into panels, and every panel had, inscribed upon 
 it in letters of gold, some phrase from the philosophers, or 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 231 
 
 some verse from the poets. The passage from Shelley which 
 Mavis had recently quoted to us, occupied, as she had said, 
 one panel, and above it hung a beautiful bas-relief of the 
 drowned poet, copied from the monument at Via Reggio. 
 Another and broader panel held a fine engraved portrait of 
 Shakespeare, and under the picture appeared the lines — 
 
 " To thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man." 
 
 Byron was represented, — also Keats ; but it would have 
 taken more than a day to examine the various suggestive 
 quaintnesses and individual charms of this 'workshop,' as its 
 owner called it, though the hour was to come when I should 
 know every corner of it by heart, and look upon it as a 
 haunted outlaw of bygone ages looked upon * sanctuary.' 
 But now time gave us little pause, — and when we had suffi- 
 ciently expressed our pleasure and gratitude for the kindness 
 with which we had been received, Lucio, glancing at his 
 watch, suggested departure. 
 
 ''We could stay on here for an indefinite period, Miss 
 Clare," he said wnth an unwonted softness in his dark eyes. 
 "It is a place for peace and happy meditation, — a restful 
 corner for a tired soul." He checked a slight sigh, — then 
 went on — " But trains wait for no man, and we are returning 
 to town to-night." 
 
 " Then I wdll not detain you any longer," said our young 
 hostess, leading the way at once by a side-door, through a 
 passage filled with flowering plants, into the drawing-room 
 where she had first entertained us. "I hope, Mr Tempest," 
 she added, smiling at me, " that now we have met, you will 
 no longer desire to qualify as one of my pigeons ! It is 
 scarcely worth while !" 
 
 "Miss Clare," I said, now speaking with unaffected sin- 
 cerity, " I assure you, on my honour, I am very sorry I wrote 
 
232 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 that article against you. If I had only known you as you 
 are — ' ' 
 
 ''Oh, that should make no difference to a critic!" she 
 answered merrily. 
 
 *' It would have made a great difference to me," I declared. 
 "You are so unlike the objectionable ' literary woman' — " I 
 paused, and she regarded me smilingly with her bright clear 
 candid eyes, — then I added — ''I must tell you that Sibyl, — 
 Lady Sibyl Elton, — is one of your most ardent admirers." 
 
 '' I am very pleased to hear that," she said simply. " I am 
 always glad when I succeed in winning somebody's approval 
 and liking." 
 
 ''Does not everyone approve and admire you?" asked 
 Lucio. 
 
 " Oh, no ! By no means ! The ' Saturday' says I only win 
 the applause of shop-girls!" and she laughed. "Poor old 
 ' Saturday' ! — the writers on its staff are so jealous of any suc- 
 cessful author. I told the Prince of Wales what it said the 
 other day, and he was very much amused. ' ' 
 
 "You know the Prince?" I asked, in a little surprise. 
 
 " Well, it would be more correct to say that he knows me," 
 she replied. "He has been very good in taking some little 
 interest in my books. He knows a good deal about litera- 
 ture too, — much more than people give him credit for. He 
 has been here more than once, — and has seen me feed my re- 
 viewers — the pigeons, you know ! He rather enjoyed the fun, 
 I think!" 
 
 And this was all the result of the ' slating' the press gave to 
 Mavis Clare ! Simply that she named her doves after her 
 critics, and fed them in the presence of whatever royal or dis- 
 tinguished visitors she might have (and I afterwards learned 
 she had many), amid, no doubt, much laughter from those who 
 saw the 'Spectator' pigeon fighting for grains of corn, or the 
 ' Saturday Review' pigeon quarrelling over peas ! Evidently 
 no reviewer, spiteful or otherwise, could affect the vivacious 
 nature of such a mischievous elf as she was. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 233 
 
 "How different 7011 are — how widely different — to the 
 ordinary run of literary people !" I said involuntarily. 
 
 ''I am glad you find me so," she answered. **I hope I 
 am different. As a rule, literary people take themselves far 
 too seriously and attach too much importance to what they do. 
 That is why they become such bores. I don't believe anyone 
 ever did thoroughly good work who was not perfectly happy 
 over it and totally indifferent to opinion. I should be quite 
 content to write on, if I only had a garret to live in. I was 
 once very poor, — shockingly poor ; and even now I am not 
 rich, but I've got just enough to keep me working steadily, 
 which is as it should be. If I had more, I might get lazy and 
 neglect my work, — then you know Satan might step into my 
 life, and it would be a question of idle hands and mischief to 
 follow, according to the adage." 
 
 " I think you would have strength enough to resist Satan," 
 said Lucio, looking at her stedfastly, with sombre scrutiny in 
 his expressive eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that, — I could not be sure of 
 myself!" and she smiled. "I should imagine he must be a 
 dangerously fascinating personage. I never picture him as 
 the possessor of hoofs and a tail, — common-sense assures me 
 that no creature presenting himself under such an aspect 
 would have the slightest power to attract. Milton's conception 
 of Satan is the finest," — and her eyes darkened swiftly with 
 the intensity of her thoughts — " A mighty Angel fallen ! — one 
 cannot but be sorry for such a fall, if the legend were true !" 
 
 There was a sudden silence. A bird sang outside, and a 
 little breeze swayed the lilies in the window to and fro. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mavis Clare !" said Lucio very softly, almost 
 tenderly. His voice was low and tremulous — his face grave 
 and pale. She looked up at him in a little surprise. 
 
 " Good-bye !" she rejoined, extending her small hand. He 
 held it a moment, — then, to my secret astonishment, knowing 
 his aversion to women, stooped and kissed it. She flushed 
 rosily as she withdrew it from his clasp. 
 
234 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 "Be always as you are, Mavis Clare," he said gently. 
 *' Let nothin^r change you ! Keep that bright nature of yours, 
 — that unruffled spirit of quiet contentment, and you may 
 wear the bitter laurel of fame as sweetly as a rose. I have seen 
 the world ; I have travelled far, and have met many famous 
 men and women, — kings and queens, senators, poets and 
 philosophers, — my experience has been wide and varied, so 
 that I am not altogether without authority for what I say, — and 
 I assure you that the Satan of whom you are able to speak with 
 compassion, can never trouble the peace of a pure and con- 
 tented soul. Like consorts with like, — a fallen angel seeks 
 the equally fallen, — and the devil, — if there be one, — be- 
 comes the companion of those only who take pleasure in his 
 teaching and society. Legends say he is afraid of a crucifix, 
 — but if he is afraid of anything I should say it must be of 
 that ' sweet content' concerning which your country's Shake- 
 speare sings, and which is a better defence against evil than the 
 church or the prayers of the clergy ! I speak as one having 
 the right of age to speak, — I am so many many years older 
 than you ! — you must forgive me if I have said too much !" 
 
 She was quite silent ; evidently moved and surprised at his 
 words ; and she gazed at him with a vaguely wondering, half- 
 awed expression, — an expression which changed directly I 
 myself advanced to make my adieu. 
 
 "I am very glad to have met you. Miss Clare," I said. 
 " I hope we shall be friends !" 
 
 "There is no reason why we should be enemies I think," 
 she responded frankly. " I am very pleased you came to-day. 
 If ever you want to ' slate' me again, you know your fate ! — 
 you become a dove, — nothing more ! Good-bye !" 
 
 She saluted us prettily as we passed out, and when the gate 
 had closed behind us we heard the deep and joyous baying of 
 the great dog 'Emperor,' evidently released from 'durance 
 vile' immediately on our departure. We walked on for some 
 time in silence, and it was not till we had re-entered the 
 grounds of Willowsmere, and were making our way to the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 235 
 
 drive, where the carriage which was to take us to the station 
 already awaited us, that Lucio said — 
 
 ** Well ; 710W, what do you think of her ?" 
 
 *' She is as unlike the accepted ideal of the female novelist 
 as she can well be," I answered, with a laugh. 
 
 "Accepted ideals are generally mistaken ones," he ob- 
 served, watching me narrowly. *' An accepted ideal of Divinity 
 in some church pictures, is an old man's face set in a triangle. 
 The accepted ideal of the devil is a nondescript creature, with 
 horns, hoofs (one of them cloven) and a tail, as Miss Clare 
 just now remarked. The accepted ideal of beauty is the 
 Venus de Medicis, — whereas your Lady Sibyl entirely tran- 
 scends that much over-rated statue. The accepted ideal of a 
 poet is Apollo, — he was a god, — and no poet in the flesh ever 
 approaches the god-like. And the accepted ideal of the 
 female novelist, is an elderly, dowdy, spectacled, frowsy 
 fright, — Mavis Clare does not fulfil this description, yet she is 
 the author of ' Differences. ' Now McWhing, who thrashes 
 her continually in all the papers he can command, is elderly, 
 ugly, spectacled and frowsy, and he is the author of — nothing ! 
 Women- authors are invariably supposed to be hideous, — men 
 authors for the most part are hideous. But their hideousness 
 is not noted or insisted upon, — whereas, no matter how good- 
 looking women writers may be, they still pass under press- 
 comment as frights, because the fiat of press-opinion considers 
 they ought to be frights, even if they are not. A pretty 
 authoress is an offence, — an incongruity, — a something that 
 neither men nor women care about. Men don't care about 
 her, because being clever and independent, she does not often 
 care about them, — women don't care about her, because she 
 has the effrontery to combine attractive looks with intelligence, 
 and she makes an awkward rival to those who have only attrac- 
 tive looks without intelligence. So wags the world ! — 
 
 O wild world ! — circling through aeons untold, — 
 
 'Mid fires of sunrise and sunset, — through flashes of silver and gold, — 
 
 Grain of dust in a storm, — atom of sand by the sea, — 
 
 What is your worth, O world, to the Angels of God and me ! 
 
236 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 He sang this quite suddenly, his rich baritone pealing out 
 musically on the warm silent air. I listened entranced. 
 
 " What a voice you have !" I exclaimed. '* What a glorious 
 gift!" 
 
 He smiled, and sang on, his dark eyes flashing — 
 
 O wild world ! mote in a burning ray 
 
 Flung from the spherical Heavens millions of spaces away — 
 
 Sink in the ether or soar ! Live with the planets or die !— 
 
 What should I care for your fate, who am one with the Infinite Sky 1 
 
 ''What Strange song is that?" I asked, startled and thrilled 
 by the passion of his voice. *' It seems to mean nothing !" 
 
 He laughed, and took my arm. 
 
 "It does mean nothing!" he said. ''All drawing-room 
 songs mean nothing. Mine is a drawing-room song — calcu- 
 lated to waken emotional impulses in the unloved spinster, 
 religiously inclined !" 
 
 "Nonsense !" I said, smiling. 
 
 " Exactly. That is what I say. It is nonsense." Here we 
 came up to the carriage which waited for us. "Just twenty 
 minutes to catch the train, Geoffrey ! Off we go !" 
 
 And off we did go, — I watching the red gabled roofs of 
 Willowsmere Court shining in the late sunshine, till a turn in 
 the road hid them from view. 
 
 "You like your purchase?" queried Lucio presently. 
 
 "I do. Immensely !" 
 
 " And your rival. Mavis Clare? Do you like her?" 
 
 I paused a moment, then answered frankly — 
 
 " Yes. I like her. And I will admit something more than 
 that to you now. I like her book. It is a noble work, — • 
 worthy of the most highly-gifted man. I always liked it — 
 and because I liked it, I slated it." 
 
 " Rather a mysterious course of procedure !" and he smiled. 
 " Can you not explain?" 
 
 " Of course I can explain," I said. " Explanation is easy. 
 I envied her power — I envy it still. Her popularity caused 
 me a smarting sense of injury, and to relieve it I wrote that 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 237 
 
 article against her. But I shall never do anything of the kind 
 again. I shall let her grow her laurels in peace." 
 
 " Laurels have a habit of growing without any permission," 
 observed Lucio significantly. "In all sorts of unexpected 
 places too. And they can never be properly cultivated in the 
 forcing-house of criticism." 
 
 "I know that!" I said quickly, my thoughts reverting to 
 my own book, and all the favourable criticisms that had been 
 heaped upon it. "I have learned that lesson thoroughly, by 
 heart!" 
 
 He looked at me fixedly. 
 
 '' It is only one of many you may have yet to learn," he said. 
 ''It is a lesson in fame. Your next course of instruction 
 will be in love." 
 
 He smiled, — but I was conscious of a certain dread and 
 discomfort as he spoke. I thought of Sibyl and her incom- 
 parable beauty — Sibyl, who had told me she could not love, 
 — had we both to learn a lesson ? And should we master it ? 
 — or would it master us ? 
 
 XXI 
 
 The preparations for my marriage now went on apace, — 
 shoals of presents began to arrive for Sibyl as well as for my- 
 self, and I was introduced to an hitherto undemonstrated phase 
 (as far I personally was concerned) of the vulgarity and hypoc- 
 risy of fashionable society. Everyone knew the extent of my 
 wealth, and how little real necessity there was for offering me 
 or my bride-elect costly gifts ; nevertheless, all our so-called 
 ' friends' and acquaintances, strove to outvie each other in the 
 gross cash-value, if not in the good taste of their various dona- 
 tions. Had we been a young couple bravely beginning the 
 world on true love, in more or less uncertainty as to our pros- 
 pects and future income; we should have received nothing 
 
238 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 either useful or valuable, — everyone would have tried to do the 
 present-giving in as cheap and mean a way as possible. In- 
 stead of handsome services of solid silver, we should have had 
 a meagre collection of plated teaspoons ; instead of costly 
 editions of books sumptuously enriched with fine steel en- 
 gravings, we might possibly have had to express our gratitude 
 for a ten-shilling Family Bible. Of course I fully realized the 
 actual nature and object of the lavish extravagance displayed 
 on this occasion by our social 'set,' — their gifts were merely 
 so many bribes, sent with a purpose which was easy enough to 
 fathom. The donors wished to be invited to the wedding in 
 the first place, — after that, they sought to be included in our 
 visiting-list, and foresaw invitations to our dinners and house- 
 parties ; — and more than this they calculated on our influence 
 in society, and the possible chance their might be in the dim 
 future of our lending some of them money should pressing 
 occasion require it. In the scant thankfulness and suppressed 
 contempt their adulatory offerings excited, Sibyl and I were 
 completely at one. She looked upon her array of glittering 
 valuables with the utmost weariness and indifference, and flat- 
 tered my self-love by assuring me that the only things she cared 
 at all for were the riviere of sapphires and diamonds I had 
 given her as a betrothal-pledge, together with an engagement- 
 ring of the same lustrous gems. Yet I noticed she also had a 
 great liking for Lucio's present, which was a truly magnificent 
 masterpiece of the jeweller's art. It was a girdle in the form 
 of a serpent, the body entirely composed of the finest emeralds, 
 and the head of rubies and diamonds. Flexible as a reed, 
 when Sibyl put it on it appeared to spring and coil round her 
 waist like a living thing, and breathe with her breathing. I 
 did not much care for it myself as an ornament for a young 
 bride, — it seemed to me quite unsuitable, — but as everyone 
 else admired it and envied the possessor of such superb jewels, 
 I said nothing of my own distaste. Diana Chesney had shown 
 a certain amount of delicate sentiment and refinement in her 
 offering, — it was a very exquisite marble statue of Psyche, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 239 
 
 mounted on a pedestal of solid silver and ebony. Sibyl 
 thanked her, smiling coldly. 
 
 ''You have given me an emblem of the Soul," she said. 
 *' No doubt you remembered I have no soul of my own." 
 
 And her airy laugh had chilled poor Diana ' to the marrow,' 
 as the warm-hearted little American herself, with tears, assured 
 me. At this period I saw very little of Rimanez. I was much 
 occupied with my lawyers on the question of 'settlements.' 
 Me.-5srs Bentham and Ellis rather objected to the arrangement 
 by which I gave the half of my fortune to my intended wife 
 unconditionally ; but I would brook no interference, and the 
 deed was drawn up, signed, sealed and witnessed. The Earl 
 of Elton could not sufficiently praise my ' unexampled gener- 
 osity' — my 'noble character,' — and walked about, eulogizing 
 me everywhere, till he almost turned himself into a public 
 advertisement of the virtues of his future son-in-law. He 
 seemed to have taken a new lease of life, — he flirted with 
 Diana Chesney openly, — and of his paralyzed spouse with the 
 fixed stare and deathly grin, he never spoke, and, I imagine, 
 never thought. Sibyl herself was always in the hands of 
 dressmakers and milliners, — and we only saw each other every 
 day for a few minutes' hurried chat. On these occasions she 
 was always charming, — even affectionate ; and yet, — though I 
 was full of passionate admiration and love for her, I felt that 
 she was mine merely as a slave might be mine ; that she gave 
 me her lips to kiss as if she considered I had a right to kiss 
 them because I had bought them, and for no other reason, — 
 that her pretty caresses were studied, and her whole behaviour 
 the result of careful forethought and not natural impulsive- 
 ness. I tried to shake off this impression, but it still re- 
 mained persistently, and clouded the sweetness of my brief 
 courtship. 
 
 Meanwhile, slowly and almost imperceptibly, my ' boomed' 
 book dropped out of notice. Morgeson presented a heavy 
 bill of publishing costs which I paid without a murmur; now 
 and then an allusion to my ' literary triumphs' cropped up in 
 
240 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 one or other of the newspapers, but otherwise no one spoke of 
 my * famous' work, and few read it. I enjoyed the same sort 
 of ' cliquey' reputation and public failure attending Pater's 
 novel entitled ' Marius the Epicurean.' The journalists with 
 whom I had come in contact, began to drift away like flotsam 
 and jetsam ; I think they saw I was not likely to give many 
 more ' reviewing' dinners or suppers, and that my marriage 
 with the Earl of Elton's daughter would lift me into an atmos- 
 phere where ' Grub-street' could not breathe comfortably, or 
 stretch its legs at ease. The heap of gold on which I sat as 
 on a throne, divided me gradually from even the back courts 
 and lower passages leading to the Temple of Fame, and almost 
 unconsciously to myself I retreated step by step, shading my eyes 
 as it were from the sun, and seeing the glittering turrets in the 
 distance, with a woman's slight figure entering the lofty por- 
 tico, turning back her laurelled head to smile sorrowfully and 
 with divinest pity upon me, ere passing in to salute the gods. 
 Yet, if asked about it, everyone on the press would have 
 said that I had had a great success. I — only I — realized the 
 bitterness and truth of my failure. I had not touched the 
 heart of the public ; — I had not succeeded in so waking my 
 readers out of the torpor of their dull and commonplace every ^' 
 day lives, that they should turn towards me with outstretched 
 hands, exclaiming — " More, — more of these thoughts which 
 comfort and inspire us ! — which make us hear God's voice 
 proclaiming * All's well !' above the storms of life !" I had 
 not done it, — I could not do it. And the worst part of my 
 feelings on this point was the idea that possibly I might have 
 done it had I remained poor ! The strongest and healthiest 
 pulse in the composition of a man, — the necessity for hard 
 work, — had been killed in me. I knew I need not work ; that 
 the society in which I now moved thought it ridiculous if I 
 did work ; that I was expected to spend money and * enjoy' 
 myself in the idiotic fashion of what the ' upper ten' term 
 enjoyment. My acquaintances were not slow in suggesting 
 plans for the dissipation of my surplus cash, — why did I not 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 241 
 
 build for myself a marble palace on the Riviera? — or a yacht 
 to completely outshine the Prince of Wales's ' Britannia' ? 
 Why did I not start a theatre ? or found a newspaper ? Not 
 one of my social advisers once proposed my doing any private 
 personal good with my fortune. When some terrible case of 
 distress was published, and subscriptions were raised to relieve 
 the object or objects of suffering, I invariably gave Ten 
 Guineas, and allowed myself to be thanked for my ' generous 
 assistance.' I might as well have given ten pence, for the 
 guineas were no more to me in comparison than the pence. 
 When funds were started to erect a statue to some great man 
 who had, in the usual way of the world, been a victim of mis- 
 representation till his death, I produced my Ten Guineas 
 again, when I could easily have defrayed the whole cost 
 of the memorial, with honour to myself, and been none the 
 poorer. With all my wealth I did nothing noteworthy; I 
 showered no unexpected luck in the way of the patient, strug- 
 gling workers in the hard schools of literature and art ; I gave 
 no * largesse' among the poor ; — and when a thin eager-eyed 
 curate with a strong earnest face, called upon me one day, to 
 represent, with much nervous diffidence, the hideous sufferings 
 of some of the sick and starving in his district down by the 
 docks, and suggested that I might possibly care to alleviate a 
 few of these direful sorrows as a satisfaction to myself, as well 
 as for the sake of human brotherhood, I am ashamed to say 
 I let hiin go with a sovereign, for v/hich he heaped coals of fire 
 on my head by his simple ' God bless you, and thank you.' 
 I could see he was himself in the grip of poverty, — I could 
 have made him and his poor district gloriously happy by a few 
 strokes of my pen on a cheque for an amount I should never 
 have missed, — and yet — I gave him nothing but that one piece 
 of gold, and so allowed him to depart. He invited me, with 
 earnest goodwill, to go and see his starving flock, — " for, be- 
 lieve me, Mr Tempest," said he, "1 should be sorry if you 
 thought, as some of the wealthy are unhappily apt to do, that 
 I seek money simply to apply it to my own personal uses. If 
 
 1. q 21 
 
242 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 you would visit the district yourself, and distribute whatever 
 you pleased with your own hand, it would be infinitely more 
 gratifying to me, and would have a far better effect on the 
 minds of the people. For, sir, the poor will not always be 
 patient under the cruel burdens they have to bear." 
 
 I smiled indulgently, and assured him, not without a touch 
 of satire in my tone, that I was convinced all clergymen were 
 honest and unselfish, — and then I sent my servant to bow him 
 out with all possible politeness. And that very day I remem- 
 ber, I drank at my luncheon Chateau Yquem at twenty-five 
 shillings a bottle. 
 
 I enter into these apparently trifling details because they 
 all help to make up the sum and substance of the deadly con- 
 sequences to follow, — and also because I wish to emphasize 
 the fact that in my actions I only imitated the example of my 
 compeers. Every rich man to-day follows the same course as 
 I did, — and active personal good to the community is wrought 
 by none of them. No great deed of generosity illumines our 
 annals. Royalty itself leads no fashion in this, — the royal 
 gifts of game and cast-off clothing sent to our hospitals are too 
 slight and conventional to carry weight. The * entertainments 
 for the poor' got up by some of the aristocrats at the East 
 end, are nothing, and less than nothing. They are weak 
 sops to our tame ' lion couchant,' offered in doubtful fear and 
 trembling. For our lion is wakefiil and somewhat restive, — 
 there is no knowing what may happen if the original ferocity 
 of the beast is roused. A few of our over-rich men might 
 considerably ease the load of cruel poverty in many quarters 
 of the metropolis if they united themselves with a noble un- 
 selfishness in the strong and determined effort to do so, and 
 eschewed red-tapeism and wordy argument. But they remain 
 inert ; — spending solely on their own personal gratification 
 and amusement, — and meanwhile there are dark signs of 
 trouble brooding. The poor, as the lean and anxious curate 
 said, will not always be patient ! 
 
 I must not here forget to mention that according to the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 243 
 
 suggestion Rimanez had made to me on the second day of 
 our acquaintance, he had entered a horse for me to run the 
 Derby. It was a superb creature named ' Phosphor, ' and 
 where it came from, Lucio would not say. It was shown to a 
 few experts who not only seemed astonished but considerably 
 taken aback by the perfection of the animal at all points, — 
 and Rimanez, whose gift to me it was, warned me to be care- 
 ful as to the character of the persons admitted into the stables 
 to view it, and to allow no one but the horse's own two at- 
 tendants to linger near it long on any pretext. Speculation 
 was very rife as to what ' Phosphor's' capabilities really were ; 
 the grooms never showed him off to advantage during exer- 
 cise. I was amazed when Lucio told me his man Amiel would 
 be the jockey. 
 
 *' Good heavens ! — not possible !" I exclaimed. '' Can he 
 ride?" 
 
 *' Like the very devil !" responded my friend with a smile. 
 *• He will ride ' Phosphor' to the winning-post." 
 
 I was very doubtful in my own mind of this ; a horse of 
 the Prime Minister's was to run, and all the betting was on 
 that side. Few had seen 'Phosphor,' and those few, though 
 keen admirers of the animal's appearance, had little oppor- 
 tunity of judging its actual qualities, thanks to the careful 
 management of its two attendants, who were dark-faced, 
 reticent-looking men, somewhat after Amiel' s character and 
 complexion. I myself was quite indifferent as to the result of 
 the contest. I did not really care whether ' Phosphor' lost or 
 won the race. I could afford to lose ; and it would be little 
 to me if I won, save a momentary passing triumph. There 
 was nothing lasting, intellectual or honourable in the vic- 
 tory,— there is nothing lasting, intellectual or honourable in 
 anything connected with racing. However, because it was 
 * fashionable' to be interested in this particular mode of wast- 
 ing time and money, I followed the general Mead,' for the 
 sake of ' being talked about,' and nothing more. Meanwhile, 
 Lucio, saying little to me concerning it, was busy planning 
 
244 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the 'betrothal-fete' at Willowsmere, and designing all sorts 
 of 'surprise' entertainments for the guests. Eight hundred 
 invitations were sent out : and society soon began to chatter 
 volubly and excitedly on the probable magnificence of the 
 forthcoming festival. Eager acceptances poured in; only a 
 few of those asked were hindered from attending by illness, 
 family deaths or previous engagements, and among these 
 latter, to my regret, was Mavis Clare. She was going to the 
 sea-coast to stay with some old friends, and in a prettily- 
 worded letter explained this, and expressed her thanks for my 
 invitation though she found herself unable to accept it ! How 
 curious it was that when I read her little note of refusal I 
 should experience such a keen sense of disappointment ! She 
 was nothing to me, — nothing but a ' literary' woman who, by 
 strange chance, happened to be sweeter than most women lui- 
 literary ; and yet I felt that the fete at Willowsmere would lose 
 something in brightness lacking her presence. I had wanted 
 to introduce her to Sibyl, as I knew I should thus give a 
 special pleasure to my betrothed, — however, it was not to be, 
 and I was conscious of an inexplicable personal vexation. In 
 strict accordance with the promise made, I let Rimanez have 
 his own way entirely with regard to all the arrangements for 
 what was to be the ne plus ultra of everything ever designed 
 for the distraction, amusement and wonderment of listless and 
 fastidious ' swagger' people, and I neither interfered, nor asked 
 any questions, content to rely on my friend's taste, imagina- 
 tion and ingenuity. I only understood that all the plans were 
 being carried out by foreign artists and caterers, — and that no 
 English firms would be employed. I did venture once to in- 
 quire the reason of this, and got one of Lucio's own enig- 
 matical replies : — 
 
 "Nothing English is good enough for the English," he 
 said. ** Things have to be imported from France to please 
 the people whom the French themselves angrily designate as 
 ' perfide Albion.' You must not have a ' Bill of Fare' ; you 
 must have a ' Menu' ; and all your dishes must bear French 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 245 
 
 titles, otherwise they will not be in good form. You must 
 have French ' comediennes' and ' danseuses' to please the 
 British taste, and your silken draperies must be woven on 
 French looms. Lately too, it has been deemed necessary to 
 import Parisian morality as well as Parisian fashions. Jt does 
 not suit stalwart Great Britain at all, you know, — stalwart 
 Great Britain, aping the manners of Paris, looks like a jolly 
 open-faced, sturdy-limbed Giant, with a doll's bonnet stuck 
 on his leonine head. But the doll's bonnet is just now /a 
 viode. Some day 1 believe the Giant will discover it looks 
 ridiculous, and cast it off with a burst of genuine laughter at 
 his own temporary folly. And without it, he will resume his 
 original dignity ; — the dignity that best becomes a privileged 
 conqueror who has the sea for his standing army." 
 
 " Evidently you like England 1" I said smiling. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " Not in the very least ! I do not like England any more 
 than any other country on the globe. I do not like the globe 
 itself; and England comes in for a share of my aversion as 
 one of the spots on the trumpery ball. If I could have my 
 way, I should like to throne myself on a convenient star for 
 the purpose and kick out at Earth as she whirls by in space, 
 hoping by that act of just violence to do away with her for 
 ever." ^ 
 
 *'But why?" I asked, amused. ''Why do you hate the 
 Earth ? What has the poor little planet done to merit your 
 abhorrence ?" 
 
 He looked at me very strangely. 
 
 '' Shall I tell you ? You will never believe me !" 
 
 " No matter for that !" I answered smiling. '' Say on !" 
 
 "What has the poor little planet done?" he repeated 
 slowly. " The poor little planet has done — nothing. But it 
 is what the gods have done with this same poor little planet, 
 that awakens my anger and scorn. They have made it a 
 living sphere of wonders, — endowed it with beauty borrowed 
 from the fairest corners of highest Heaven, — decked it with 
 
 21* 
 
246 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 flowers and foliage, — taught it music, — the music of birds 
 and torrents and rolling waves and falling rains, —rocked it 
 gently in clear ether among such light as blinds the eyes of 
 mortals,— guided it out of chaos, through clouds of thunder 
 and barbed shafts of lightning, to circle peacefully in its ap- 
 pointed orbit, lit on the one hand by the vivid splendours of 
 the sun, and on the other by the sleepy radiance of the moon ; 
 — and more than all this, they have invested it with a Divine 
 Soul in man. Oh, you may disbelieve as you will, — but not- 
 withstanding the pigmy peeps earth takes at the vast and 
 eternal ocean of Science, the Soul is here, and all the im- 
 mortal forces with it and around it ! Nay, the gods — I speak 
 in the plural, after the fashion of the ancient Greeks — for to 
 my thinking there are many gods emanating from the Supreme 
 Deity, — the gods, I say, have so insisted on this fact, that 
 One of them has walked the earth in human guise, solely 
 for the sake of emphasizing the truth of Immortality to these 
 frail creatures of seemingly perishable clay ! For this I hate 
 the planet ; — were there not, and are there not other and far 
 grander worlds, that a God should have chosen to dwell on 
 this one !" 
 
 For a moment I was silent, out of sheer surprise. 
 
 " You amaze me !" I said at last. " You allude to Christ, 
 I suppose ; but everybody is convinced by this time that He 
 was a mere man like the rest of us ; there was nothing divine 
 about Him. What a contradiction you are! Why, I re- 
 member you indignantly denied the accusation of being a 
 Christian." 
 
 *' Of course, — and I deny it still," he answered quickly. 
 " I have not a fat living in the church that I should tell a lie 
 on such a subject. I am not a Christian ; nor is anyone living 
 a Christian. To quote a very old saying, ' There never was a 
 Christian save One, and He was crucified.' But though I 
 am not a Christian, I never said I doubted the existence ot 
 Christ. That knowledge was forced upon me, — with con- 
 siderable pressure too." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 247 
 
 "By a reliable authority?" I inquired with a slight 
 sneer. 
 
 He made no immediate reply. His flashing eyes looked, 
 as it were, through me and beyond me at something far away. 
 The curious pallor that at times gave his face the set look of 
 an impenetrable mask, came upon him then, and he smiled, 
 — an awful smile. So might a man smile out of deadly 
 bravado, when told of some dim and dreadful torture await- 
 ing him. 
 
 ''You touch me on a sore point," he said at last, slowly 
 and in a harsh tone. *'My convictions respecting certain 
 religious phases of man's development and progress are 
 founded on the arduous study of some very unpleasant truths 
 to which humanity generally shuts its eyes, burying its head 
 in the desert-sands of its own delusions. These truths I will 
 not enter upon now. Some other time I will initiate you into 
 a few of my mysteries." 
 
 The tortured smile passed from his face, leaving it intellect- 
 ually composed and calm as usual, — and I hastily changed 
 the subject, for I had made up my mind by this time that my 
 brilliant friend had, like many exceptionally gifted persons, a 
 * craze' on one topic, and that topic a particularly difficult 
 one to discuss, as it touched on the superhuman, and therefore 
 (to my thinking) the impossible. My own temperament, 
 which had, in the days of my poverty, fluctuated between 
 spiritual striving and material gain, had, with my sudden 
 access to fortune, rapidly hardened into the character of a 
 man of the world worldly, for whom all speculations as to the 
 unseen forces working in and around us, were the merest folly, 
 not worth a moment's waste of thought. I should have laughed 
 to scorn anyone who had then presumed to talk to me about 
 the law of Eternal Justice, which with individuals as well as 
 nations, works, not for a passing 'phase,' but for all time 
 towards good, and not evil, — for no matter how much a man 
 may strive to blind himself to the fact, he has a portion of 
 the Divine with him, which if he wilfully corrupts by his 
 
248 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 own wickedness, he must be forced to cleanse again, and yet 
 again, in the fierce flames of such remorse and such despair 
 as are rightly termed the quenchless fires of Hell ! 
 
 XXII 
 
 On the afternoon of the twenty-first of May, I went down, 
 accompanied by Lucio, to Willowsmere, to be in readiness 
 for the reception of the social swarm who were to flock 
 thither the next day. Amiel went with us, — but I left my 
 own man, Morris, behind, to take charge of my rooms in the 
 ' Grand' and to forward late telegrams and special messages. 
 TJie weather was calm, warm and bright, — and a young moon 
 showed her thin crescent in the sky as we got out at the 
 country station and stepped into the open carriage awaiting 
 us. The station-oflicials greeted us with servile humility, 
 eyeing Lucio especially with an almost gaping air of wonder- 
 ment ; the fact of his lavish expenditure in arranging with the 
 railway company a service of special trains for the use of the 
 morrow's guests, had no doubt excited them to a speechless 
 extent of admiration as well as astonishment. AVhen we 
 approached Willowsmere, and entered the beautiful drive, 
 bordered with oak and beech, which led up to the house, I 
 uttered an exclamation of delight at the festal decorations 
 dis})layed, for the whole avenue was spanned with arches of 
 flags and flowers ; garlands of blossoms being even swung 
 from tree to tree, and interlacing many of the lower branches. 
 The gabled porch at the entrance of the house was draped 
 with crimson silk and festooned with white roses, — and as we 
 alighted, the door was flung open by a smart page in brilliant 
 scarlet and gold. 
 
 *' I think," said Lucio to me as we entered, "you will 
 find everything as complete as this world's resources will 
 allow. The retinue of servants here are what is vulgarly 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 249 
 
 called ' on the job' ; their payment is agreed upon, and 
 they know their duties thoroughly, — they will give you no 
 trouble." 
 
 I could scarcely find words to express my unbounded satis- 
 faction, or to thank him for the admirable taste with which 
 the beautiful house had been adorned. I wandered about in 
 an ecstasy of admiration, triumphing in such a visible and gor- 
 geous display of what great wealth could really do. The ball- 
 room had been transformed into an elegant bijou theatre, the 
 stage being concealed by a curtain of thick gold-coloured silk 
 on which the oft quoted lines of Shakespeare were embroidered 
 in raised letters, — 
 
 " All the world's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players." 
 
 Turning out of this into the drawing-room, I found it deco- 
 rated entirely round with banks of roses, red and white, the 
 flowers forming a huge pyramid at one end of the apartment, 
 behind which, as Lucio informed me, unseen musicians would 
 discourse sweet harmony. 
 
 " I have arranged for a few * tableaux vivants' in the theatre 
 to fill up a gap of time," he said carelessly. " Fashionable 
 folks now-a-days get so soon tired of one amusement that it 
 is necessary to provide several in order to distract the brains 
 that cannot think, or discover any means of entertainment in 
 themselves. As a matter of fact, people cannot even converse 
 long together, because they have nothing to say. Oh, don't 
 bother to go out in the grounds on a tour of inspection just 
 now, — leave a few surprises for yourself as well as for your 
 company tomorrow. Come and have dinner !" 
 
 He put his arm through mine and we entered the dining- 
 room. Here the table was laid out with costly fruit, flowers 
 and delicacies of every description, — four men-servants in 
 scarlet and gold stood silently in waiting, withAmiel, in black 
 as usual, behind his master's chair. We enjoyed a sumptuous 
 repast, served to perfection, and when it was finished, we 
 strolled out in the grounds to smoke and talk. 
 
250 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 "You seem to do everything by magic, Liicio," I said, 
 looking at him wonderingly. '* All these lavish decorations, — 
 these servants — " 
 
 " Money, my dear fellow, — nothing but money," he inter- 
 rupted with a laugh. " Money, the devil's pass-key ! you 
 can have the retinue of a king without any of a king's respon- 
 sibilities, if you only choose to pay for it. It is merely a 
 question of cost." 
 
 *' And taste !" I reminded him. 
 
 *' True, — and taste. Some rich men there are who have less 
 taste than a costermonger. I know one who has the egregious 
 vulgarity to call the attention of his guests to the value of his 
 goods and chattels. He pointed out for my admiration one 
 day, an antique and hideous china plate, the only one of that 
 kind in the world, and told me it was worth a thousand guineas. 
 * Break it,' I said coolly, * You will then have the satisfaction 
 of knowing you have destroyed a thousand guineas' worth of 
 undesirable ugliness.' You should have seen his face ! He 
 showed me no more airios P ' 
 
 I laughed, and we walked slowly up and down for a few 
 minutes in silence. Presently I became aware that my com- 
 panion was looking at me intently, and I turned my head 
 quickly to meet his eyes. He smiled. 
 
 " I was just then thinking," he said, " what you would have 
 done with your life if you had not inherited this fortune, and 
 if, — if /had not come your way?" 
 
 "I should have starved, no doubt," I responded — " Died 
 like a rat in a hole, — of want and wretchedness." 
 
 " I rather doubt that, " he said meditatively. "It is just 
 possible you might have become a great writer." 
 
 "Why do you say that now?" I asked. 
 
 "Because I have been reading your book. There are fine 
 ideas in it, — ideas that might, had they been the result of sin- 
 cere conviction, have reached the public in time, because they 
 were sane and healthy. The public will never put up for long 
 with corrupt ' fads' and artificial * crazes.' Now, you write of 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 251 
 
 God, — yet according to your own statement, you did not be- 
 lieve in God even when you wrote the words that imply His 
 existence, — and that Avas long before I met you. Therefore 
 the book was tiot the result of sincere conviction, — and that's 
 the key-note of your failure to reach the large audience you 
 desired. Each reader can see you do not believe what you 
 write, — the trumpet of lasting fame never sounds triumph for 
 an author of that calibre. ' ' 
 
 "Don't let us talk about it for Heaven's sake!" I said 
 irritably. "I know my work lacks something, — and that 
 something may be what you say, or it may not, — I do not 
 want to think about it. Let it perish, as it assuredly will ; 
 perhaps in the future I may do something better." 
 
 He was silent, —and finishing his cigar, threw the end away 
 in the grass where it burned like a dull red coal. 
 
 " I must turn in," he then observed. '' I have a few more 
 directions to give to the servants for tomorrow. I shall go to 
 my room as soon as I have done, — so I'll say good-night." 
 
 '' But surely you are taking too much personal trouble," I 
 said. '' Can't I help in any way?" 
 
 '*No, you can't," he answered smiling. *'When I under- 
 take to do anything I like to do it in my own fashion, or not 
 at all. Sleep well, and rise early." 
 
 He nodded, and sauntered slowly away over the dewy grass. 
 I watched his dark tall figure receding till he had entered the 
 house ; then, lighting a fresh cigar I wandered on alone through 
 the grounds, noting here and there flowery arbours and dainty 
 silk pavilions erected in picturesque nooks and corners for the 
 morrow. I looked up at the sky; it was clear and bright, — 
 there would be no rain. Presently I opened the wicket-gate 
 that led into the outer by-road, and walking on slowly, almost 
 unconsciously, I found myself in a few minutes opposite ' Lily 
 Cottage.' Approaching the gate I looked in, — the pretty old 
 house was dark, silent and deserted. I knew Mavis Clare was 
 away, — and it was not strange that the aspect of her home- 
 nest emphasized the fact of her absence. A cluster of climb- 
 
252 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ing roses hanging from the wall, looked as if they were listen- 
 ing for the first sound of her returning footsteps ; across the 
 green breadth of the lawn where I had seen her playing with 
 her dogs, a tall sheaf of St John's lilies stood up white against 
 the sky, their pure hearts opened to the star-light and the 
 breeze. The scent of honey-suckle and sweet-brier filled the 
 air with delicate suggestions, — and as I leaned over the low 
 fence, gazing vaguely at the long shadows of the trees on the 
 grass, a nightingale began to sing. The sweet yet dolorous 
 warble of the ' little brown lover of the moon,' palpitated on 
 the silence in silver-toned drops of melody ; and I listened, 
 till my eyes smarted with a sudden moisture as of tears. 
 Strangely enough, I never thought of my betrothed bride 
 Sibyl then, as surely, by all the precedents of passion, I should 
 have done at such a moment of dreamful ecstasy. It was 
 another woman's face that floated before my memory ; — a face 
 not beautiful, — but merely sweet, and made radiant by the 
 light of two tender, wistful, wonderfully innocent eyes, — a face 
 like that of some new ' Daphne' with the mystic laurel spring- 
 ing from her brows. The nightingale sang on and on, — the 
 tall lilies swayed in the faint wind as though nodding wise 
 approval of the bird's wild music, — and, gathering one brier- 
 rose from the hedge, I turned away with a curious heaviness 
 at my heart, — a trouble I could not analyze or account for. I 
 explained my feeling partly to myself as one of regret that I 
 had ever taken up my pen to assault, with sneer and flippant 
 jest, the gentle and brilliantly endowed owner of this little 
 home where peace and pure content dwelt happily in student- 
 like seclusion ; — but this was not all. There was something 
 else in my mind, — something inexplicable and sad, — which 
 then I had no skill to define. I know now what it was, — but 
 the knowledge comes too late. 
 
 Returning to my own domains, I saw through the trees a 
 vivid red light in one of the upper windows of Willowsmere. 
 It twinkled like a lurid star, and I guided my steps by its 
 brilliancy as I made my way across the winding garden-paths 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 253 
 
 and terraces back to the house. Entering the hall, the page 
 in scarlet and gold met me, and with a respectful obeisance, 
 escorted me to my room where Amiel was in waiting. 
 
 " Has the prince retired ?" I asked him. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " He has a red lamp in his window, has he not ?" 
 
 Amiel looked deferentially meditative. Yet I fancied I saw 
 him smile. 
 
 "I think yes, — I believe he has, sir." 
 
 I asked no more questions, but allowed him to perform his 
 duties as valet in silence. 
 
 " Good-night, sir !" he said at last, his ferret eyes fastened 
 upon me with an expressionless look. 
 
 *' Good-night !" I responded indifferently. 
 
 He left the room with his usual cat-like stealthy tread, and 
 when he had gone, I, — moved by a sudden fresh impulse of 
 hatred for him, — sprang to the door and locked it. Then I 
 listened, with an odd nervous breathlessness. There was not 
 a sound. For fully quarter of an hour I remained with my 
 attention more or less strained, expectant of I knew not what ; 
 but the quiet of the house was absolutely undisturbed. With 
 a sigh of relief I flung myself on the luxurious bed, — a couch 
 fit for a king, draped with the richest satin elaborately em- 
 broidered, — and falling soundly asleep I dreamed that I was 
 poor again. Poor, — but unspeakably happy, — and hard at 
 work in the old lodging, writing down thoughts which I 
 knew by some divine intuition and beyond all doubt, would 
 bring me the whole world's honour. Again I heard the 
 sounds of the violin played by my unseen neighbour next 
 door, and this time they were triumphal chords and cadences 
 of joy, without one throb of sorrow. And while I wrote on 
 in an ecstasy of inspiration, oblivious of poverty and pain, I 
 heard, echoing through my visions, the round warble of the 
 nightingale, and saw, in the far distance, an angel floating 
 towards me on pinions of light, with the face of Mavis Clare ! 
 
 22 
 
254 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 XXIII 
 
 The morning broke clear, with all the pure tints of a fine 
 opal radiating in the cloudless sky. Never had I beheld such 
 a fair scene as the woods and gardens of Willowsmere, when 
 I looked upon them that day illumined by the unclouded sun- 
 light of a spring half-melting into summer. My heart swelled 
 with pride as I surveyed the beautiful domain I now owned, — 
 and thought how happy a home it would make when Sibyl, 
 matchless in her Joveliness, shared with me its charm and 
 luxury. 
 
 "Yes," I said half-aloud. ''Say what philosophers will, 
 the possession of money does insure satisfaction and power. 
 It is all very well to talk about fame, but what is fame worth, 
 if, like Carlyle, one is too poor to enjoy it ! Besides, litera- 
 ture no longer holds its former high prestige, — there are too 
 many in the field, — too many newspaper-scribblers all be- 
 lieving they are geniuses, — too many ill-educated lady-para- 
 graphists and ' new' women who think they are as gifted as 
 Georges Sand or Mavis Clare. With Sibyl and Willowsmere, 
 I ought to be able to resign the idea of fame — literary fame — 
 with a good grace." 
 
 I knew I reasoned falsely with myself, — I knew that my 
 hankering for a place among the truly great of the world was 
 as strong as ever, — I knew I craved for the intellectual dis- 
 tinction, force, and pride which make the Thinker a terror 
 and a power in the land, and so severs a great poet or great 
 romancist from the commoner throng that even kings are glad 
 to do him or her honour, — but I would not allow my thoughts 
 to dwell on this rapidly vanishing point of unattainable desire. 
 I settled my mind to enjoy the luscious flavour of the im- 
 mediate present, as a bee settles in the cup of honey-flowers, 
 — and, leaving my bedroom, I went downstairs to breakfast 
 with Lucio in the best and gayest of humours. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 255 
 
 *'Not a cloud on the day!" he said, meeting me with a 
 smile, as I entered the bright morning-room, whose windows 
 opened on the lawn. "The fete will be a brilliant success, 
 Geoffrey." 
 
 '' Thanks to you !" I answered. '' Personally I am quite in 
 the dark as to your plans, — but I believe you can do nothing 
 that is not well done." 
 
 ''You honour me!" he said with a light laugh. "You 
 credit me then with better qualities than the Creator ! For 
 what He does, in the opinion of the present generation, is 
 exceedingly ill done ! Men have taken to grumbling at Him 
 instead of praising Him, — and few have any patience with or 
 liking for His laws." 
 
 I laughed. "Well, you must admit those laws are very 
 arbitrary !" 
 
 " They are. I entirely acknowledge the fact." 
 
 We sat down to table, and were waited upon by admirably- 
 trained servants who apparently had no idea of anything else 
 but attendance on our needs. There was no trace of bustle 
 or excitement in the household,— no sign whatever to denote 
 that a great entertainment w^as about to take place that day. 
 It was not until the close of our meal that I asked Lucio 
 what time the musicians would arrive. He glanced at his 
 watch. 
 
 "About noon I should say," he replied ; " perhaps before. 
 But whatever their hour, they will all be in their places at the 
 proper moment, depend upon it. The people I employ — 
 both musicians and 'artistes' — know their business thoroughly 
 and are aware that I stand no nonsense." A rather sinister 
 smile played round his mouth as he regarded me. "None 
 of your guests can arrive here till one o'clock, as that is about 
 the time the special train will bring the first batch of them 
 from London, — and the first ' dejeuner' will be served in the 
 gardens at two. If you want to amuse yourself there's a May- 
 pole being put up on the large lawn, — you'd better go and 
 look at it." 
 
256 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 '' A May. pole !" I exclaimed. " Now that's a good idea !" 
 
 " It used to be a good idea," he answered. " When Eng- 
 lish lads and lasses had youth, innocence, health and fun in 
 their composition, a dance round the May-pole hand in hand, 
 did them good and did nobody harm. But now there are no 
 lads and lasses, — enervated old men and women in their teens 
 walk the world wearily, speculating on the uses of life, — 
 probing vice, and sneering down sentiment ; and such inno- 
 cent diversions as the May-pole no longer appeal to our jaded 
 youth. So we have to get ' professionals' to execute the May- 
 revels, — of course the dancing is better done by properly 
 trained legs ; but it means nothing and is nothing, except a 
 pretty spectacle." 
 
 "And are the dancers here?" I asked, rising and going 
 towards the window in some curiosity. 
 
 "No, not yet. But the May-pole is; fully decorated. It 
 faces the woods at the back of the house, — go and see if you 
 like it." 
 
 I followed his suggestion, and going in the direction indi- 
 cated, I soon perceived the gaily-decked object which used 
 to be the welcome signal of many a village holiday in Shake- 
 speare's old-world England The pole was already set up and 
 fixed in a deep socket in the ground, and a dozen or more 
 men were at work, unbinding its numerous trails of blossom 
 and garlands of green, tied with long streamers of vari -col- 
 oured ribbon. It had a picturesque effect in the centre of 
 the wide lawn bordered with grand old trees, — and approach- 
 ing one of the men, I said something to him by way of 
 approval and admiration. He glanced at me furtively and 
 unsmilingly, but said nothing, — and I concluded from his 
 dark and foreign cast of features, that he did not understand 
 the English language. I noted with some wonder and slight 
 vexation that all the workmen were of this same alien and 
 sinister type of countenance, very much after the unattractive 
 models of Amiel and the two grooms who had my racer 
 * Phosphor' in charge. But I remembered what Lucio had 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 257 
 
 told me, — namely, that all the designs for the fete were car- 
 ried out by foreign experts and artists, — and after a little 
 puzzled consideration, I let the matter pass from my mind. 
 
 The morning hours flew swiftly by, and I had little time to 
 examine all the festal preparations with which the gardens 
 abounded, — so that I was almost as ignorant of what was in 
 store for the amusement of my guests as the guests themselves. 
 I had the curiosity to wait about and watch for the coming of 
 the musicians and dancers, but I might as well have spared 
 myself this waste of time and trouble, for I never saw them 
 arrive at all. At one o'clock, both Lucio and I were ready 
 to receive our company, — and at about twenty minutes past 
 the hour, the first instalment of ' swagger society' was emptied 
 into the grounds. Sibyl and her father were among these, — 
 and I eagerly advanced to meet and greet my bride-elect as 
 she alighted from the carriage that had brought her from the 
 station. She looked supremely beautiful that day, and was, 
 as she deserved to be, the cynosure of all eyes. I kissed her 
 little gloved hand with a deeper reverence than I would have 
 kissed the hand of a queen. 
 
 ''Welcome back to your old home, my Sibyl !" I said to 
 her in a low voice, tenderly, at which words she paused, look- 
 ing up at the red gables of the house with such wistful affection 
 as filled her eyes with something like tears. She left her hand 
 in mine, and allowed me to lead her towards the silken-draped, 
 flower-decked porch, where Lucio waited, smiling, — and as 
 she advanced, two tiny pages in pure white and silver glided 
 suddenly out of some unseen hiding-place, and emptied two 
 baskets of pink and white rose-leaves at her feet, thus strew- 
 ing a fragrant pathway for her into the house. They vanished 
 as completely and swiftly as they had appeared, — some of the 
 guests uttered murmurs of admiration, while Sibyl gazed about 
 her, blushing with surprise and pleasure. 
 
 '' How charming of you, Geoffrey ! ' ' she murmured. '' What 
 a poet you are to devise so pretty a greeting !" 
 
 *'I wish I deserved your praise!" I answered, smiling at 
 r 22* 
 
258 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 her; "but the poet in question is Prince Rimanez, — he is the 
 master and ruler of to-day's revels." 
 
 Again the rich colour flushed her cheeks, and she gave 
 Lucio her hand. He bowed over it in courtly fashion, — but 
 did not kiss it as he had kissed the hand of Mavis Clare. We 
 passed into the house, through the drawing-room, and out 
 again into the garden. Lord Elton being loud in his praise of 
 the artistic manner in which his former dwelling had been 
 improved and embellished. Soon the lawn was sprinkled 
 with gaily attired groups of people, — and my duties as host 
 began in hard earnest. I had to be greeted, complimented, 
 flattered, and congratulated on my approaching marriage by 
 scores of hypocrites who nearly shook my hand off in their 
 enthusiasm for my wealth. Had I become suddenly poor, I 
 thought grimly, not one of them would have lent me a 
 sovereign ! The guests kept on arriving in shoals, and when 
 there were about three or four hundred assembled, a burst of 
 exquisite music sounded, and a procession of pages in scarlet 
 and gold, marching two by two appeared, carrying trays full 
 of the rarest flowers tied up in bouquets, which they ofl"ered 
 to all the ladies present. Exclamations of delight arose on 
 every side, — exclamations which were for the most part high- 
 pitched and noisy, — for the ' swagger set' have long ceased to 
 cultivate softness of voice or refinement of accent, — and once 
 or twice the detestable slang word ' ripping' escaped from the 
 lips of a few dashing dames, reputed to be ' leaders' of style. 
 Repose of manner, dignity and elegance of deportment, how- 
 ever, are no longer to be discovered among the present 
 ' racing' duchesses and gambling countesses of the bluest blue 
 blood of England, so one does not expect these graces of 
 distinction from them. The louder they can talk, and the 
 more slang they can adopt from the language of their grooms 
 and stable-boys, the more are they judged to be ' in the swim' 
 and 'up to date.' I speak, of course, of the modern scions 
 of aristocracy. There are a few truly ' great ladies' left, whose 
 maxim is still ^noblesse oblige^' — but they are quite in the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 259 
 
 minority and by the younger generation are voted either ' old 
 cats' or 'bores.' Many of the 'cultured' mob that now 
 swarmed over my grounds, had come out of the sheerest 
 vulgar curiosity to see what ' the man with five millions' could 
 do in the way of entertaining, — others were anxious to get 
 news, if possible, of the chances of ' Phosphor' winning the 
 Derby, concerning which I was discreetly silent. But the 
 bulk of the crowd wandered aimlessly about, staring imper- 
 tinently or enviously at each other, and scarcely looking at 
 the natural loveliness of the gardens or the woodland scenery 
 around them. The brainlessness of modern society is never 
 so flagrantly manifested as at a garden-party, where the rest- 
 less trousered and petticoated bipeds moved vaguely to and 
 fro, scarcely stopping to talk civilly or intelligently to one 
 another for five minutes, most of them hovering dubiously and 
 awkwardly between the refreshment-pavilion and the band- 
 stand. In my domain they were deprived of this latter 
 harbour of refuge, for no musicians could be seen, though 
 music was heard, — beautiful wild music which came first from 
 one part of the grounds and then from another, and to which 
 few listened with any attention. All were, however, happily 
 unanimous in their enthusiastic appreciation of the excellence 
 of the food provided for them in the luxurious luncheon tents, 
 of which there were twenty in number. Men ate as if they 
 had never eaten in their lives before, and drank the choice 
 and exquisite wines with equal greed and gusto. One never 
 entirely realizes the extent to which human gourmandism can 
 go till one knows a few peers, bishops and cabinet-ministers, 
 and watches those dignitaries feed ad libitum. Soon the 
 company was so complete that there was no longer any need 
 forme to perform the fatiguing duty of 'receiving,' and I 
 therefore took Sibyl in to luncheon, determining to devote 
 myself to her for the rest of the day. She was in one of her 
 brightest and most captivating moods, — her laughter rang out 
 as sweetly joyous as that of some happy child, — s.he was even 
 kind to Diana Chesney, who was also one of my guests, and 
 
26o THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 who was plainly enjoying herself with all the verve peculiar 
 to pretty American women who consider flirtation as much of 
 a game as tennis. The scene was now one of great brilliancy, 
 the light costumes of the women contrasting well with the 
 scarlet and gold liveries of the seemingly innumerable servants 
 that were now everywhere in active attendance. And, con- 
 stantly through the fluttering festive crowd, from tent to tent, 
 from table to table and group to group, Lucio moved, his tall 
 stately figure and handsome face always conspicuous wherever 
 he stood ; his rich voice thrilling the air whenever he spoke. 
 His influence was irresistible, and gradually dominated the 
 whole assemblage, — he roused the dull, inspired the witty, 
 encouraged the timid, and brought all the conflicting elements 
 of rival position, character and opinion into one uniform 
 whole, which was unconsciously led by his will as easily as a 
 multitude is led by a convincing orator. I did not know it, 
 then, but I know now, that, metaphorically speaking, he had 
 his foot on the neck of that ' society' mob, as though it were 
 one prostrate man ; — that the sycophants, liars and hypocrites, 
 whose utmost idea of good is wealth and luxurious living, 
 bent to his secret power as reeds bend to the wind, — and that 
 he did with them all whatsoever he chose, as he does to this 
 very day ! God ! — if the grinning, guzzling sensual fools had 
 only known what horrors were about them at the feast ! — what 
 ghastly ministers to pleasurable appetite waited obediently 
 upon them ! — what pallid terrors lurked behind the gorgeous 
 show of vanity and pride ! But the veil was mercifully down, 
 — and only to me has it since been lifted ! 
 
 Luncheon over, the singing of mirthful voices, tuned to a 
 kind of village roundelay, attracted the company, now fed to 
 repletion, towards the lawn at the back of the house, and cries 
 of delight were raised as the May -pole came into view, I myself 
 joining in the universal applause, for I had not expected to 
 see anything half so picturesque and pretty. The pole was 
 surrounded by a double ring of small children, — children so 
 beautiful in face and dainty in form, that they might very well 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 261 
 
 have been taken for little fairies from some enchanted wood- 
 land. The boys were clad as tiny foresters in doublets of 
 green, with pink caps on their curly heads, — the girls were in 
 white, with their hair flowing loosely over their shoulders, 
 and wreaths of May-blossom crowning their brows. As soon 
 as the guests appeared on the scene, these exquisite little 
 creatures commenced their dance, each one taking a trail of 
 blossom or a ribbon pendant from the May-pole, and weaving 
 it with the others into no end of beautiful and fantastic de- 
 signs. I looked on, as amazed and fascinated as anyone 
 present, at the wonderful lightness and ease with which these 
 children tripped and ran ; — their tiny twinkling feet seemed 
 scarcely to touch the turf, — their faces were so lovely, their 
 eyes so bright, that it was a positive enchantment to watch 
 them. Each figure they executed was more intricate and 
 effective than the last, and the plaudits of the spectators grew 
 more and more enthusiastic, till presently came the finale, in 
 which all the little green foresters climbed up the pole and 
 clung there, pelting the white-robed maidens below with cow- 
 slip-balls, knots of roses, bunches of violets, posies of butter- 
 cups, daisies and clover, which the girl-children in their turn 
 laughingly threw among the admiring guests. The air grew 
 thick with flowers, and heavy with perfume, and resounded 
 with song and laughter ; and Sibyl standing at my side 
 clapped her hands in an ecstasy. 
 
 ''Oh, it is lovely — lovely!" she cried. ''Is this the 
 prince's idea?" Then as I answered in the affirmative, she 
 added, " Where, I wonder, did he find such exquisitely pretty 
 little children !" 
 
 As she spoke, Lucio himself advanced a step or two in front 
 of the other spectators and made a slight peremptory sign. 
 The fairy-like foresters and maidens, with extraordinary 
 activity, all sprang away from the May-pole, pulling down 
 the garlands with them, and winding the flowers and ribbons 
 about themselves so that they looked as if they were all tied 
 together in one inextricable knot ; — this done, they started off 
 
262 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 at a rapid run, presenting the appearance of a rolling ball of 
 blossom, merry pipe-music accompanying their footsteps, till 
 they had entirely disappeared among the trees. 
 
 '*Oh, do call them back again!" entreated Sibyl, laying 
 her hand coaxingly on Lucio's arm, — **I should so like to 
 speak to two or three of the prettiest ! ' ' 
 
 He looked down at her with an enigmatical smile. 
 
 "You would do them too much honour. Lady Sibyl," he 
 replied. " They are not accustomed to such condescension 
 from great ladies and would not appreciate it. They are paid 
 professionals, and, like many of their class, only become inso- 
 lent when praised." 
 
 At that moment Diana Chesney came running across the 
 lawn, breathless. 
 
 ''I can't see them anywhere!" she declared pantingly. 
 *' The dear little darlings ! I ran after them as fast as I could ; 
 I wanted to kiss one of those perfectly scrumptious boys, but 
 they're gone !— not a trace of them left ! It's just as if they 
 had sunk into the ground ! ' ' 
 
 Again Lucio smiled. 
 
 *'They have their orders," he said curtly, ''and they 
 know their place." 
 
 Just then, the sun was obscured by a passing black cloud, 
 and a peal of thunder rumbled over-head. Looks were turned 
 to the sky, but it was quite bright and placid save for that one 
 floating shadow of storm. 
 
 '' Only summer thunder," said one of the guests. *' There 
 will be no rain." 
 
 And the crowd that had been pressed together to watch the 
 * May-pole dance' began to break up in groups, and speculate 
 as to what diversion might next be provided for them. I, 
 watching my opportunity, drew Sibyl away. 
 
 *' Come down by the river," I whispered, — " I must have 
 you to myself for a few minutes." She yielded to my sug- 
 gestion, and we walked away from the mob of our acquaint- 
 ance, and entered a grove of trees leading to the banks of 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 263 
 
 that part of the Avon which flowed through my grounds. 
 Here we found ourselves quite alone, and putting my arm 
 round my betrothed, I kissed her tenderly. 
 
 *'Tell me," 1 said with a half- smile, *'do you know how 
 to love yet?" 
 
 She looked up with a passionate darkness in her eyes that 
 startled me. 
 
 " Yes, — I know !" was her unexpected answer. 
 
 "You do!" and I stopped to gaze intently into her fair 
 face. ''And how did you learn?" 
 
 She flushed red, then grew pale, and clung to me with a 
 nervous, almost feverish force. 
 
 *'Very strangely!" she replied; *'and — quite suddenly I 
 The lesson was easy, I found; — too easy! Geoffrey," — she 
 paused, and fixed her eyes full on mine, — '' I will tell you how 
 I learnt it, . . . but not now, . . . some other day." Here 
 she broke off, and began to laugh rather forcedly. ''I will 
 tell you . . . when we are married." She glanced anxiously 
 about her, — then, with a sudden abandonment of her usual 
 reserve and pride, threw herself into my arms and kissed my 
 lips with such ardour as made my senses reel. 
 
 ''Sibyl — Sibyl!" I murmured, holding her close to my 
 heart. " Oh, my darling, — you love me ! — at last you love 
 me!" 
 
 " Hush ! — hush !" she said breathlessly. "You must forget 
 that kiss, — it was too bold of me, — it was wrong, — I did not 
 mean it, ... I ... I was thinking of something elbC. 
 Geoffrey !" and her small hand clenched on mine with a sort 
 of eager fierceness, — " I wish I had never learned to love ; I 
 was happier before I knew !" 
 
 A frown knitted her brows. 
 
 "Now," she went on in the same breathless hurried way, 
 " I wan^ love ! I am starving, thirsting for it ! I want to be 
 drowned in it, lost m it, killed by it I Nothing else will con- 
 tent me ! ' ' 
 
 I folded her still closer in my arms. 
 
264 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ''Did I not say you would change, Sibyl?" I whispered. 
 ''Your coldness and insensibility to love was unnatural and 
 could not last, — my darling, I always knew that !" 
 
 "You always knew!" she echoed a little disdainfully. 
 " Ah, but you do not know even now what has chanced to me. 
 Nor shall I tell you — yet. Oh, Geoffrey!" Here she drew 
 herself out of my embrace, and stooping, gathered some blue- 
 bells in the grass. " See these little flowers growing so purely 
 and peacefully in the shade by the Avon ! — they remind me of 
 what I was, here in this very place, long ago. I was quite as 
 happy, and I think as innocent as these blossoms ; I had no 
 thought of evil in my nature, — and the only love I dreamed of 
 was the love of the fairy prince for the fairy princess, — as 
 harmless an idea as the loves of the flowers themselves. Yes ! 
 — I was then all I should like to be now, — all that I am not ! ' ' 
 
 "You are everything that is beautiful and sweet," I told 
 her, admiringly, as I watched the play of retrospective and 
 tender expression on her perfect face. 
 
 " So you judge, — being a man who is perfectly satisfied with 
 his own choice of a wife !" she said, with a flash of her old 
 cynicism. " But I know myself better than you know me. 
 You call me beautiful and sweet, — but you cannot call me 
 good. I am not good. Why, the very love that now con- 
 sumes me is " 
 
 "What?" I asked her quickly, seizing her hands with the 
 blue-bells in them, and gazing searchingly into her eyes, — " I 
 know before you speak, that it is the passion and tenderness 
 of a true woman !" 
 
 She was silent for a moment. Then she smiled, with a 
 bewitching langour. 
 
 "If you know, then I need not tell you," she said; "so 
 do not let us stay here any longer talking nonsense. ' Society' 
 will shake its head over us and accuse us of 'bad form,' and 
 some lady-paragraphist will write to the papers, and say, * Mr 
 Tempest's conduct as a host left much to be desired, as he and 
 nis bnde-elect were 'spooning' all the day.' " 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 265 
 
 "There are no lady-paragraphists here," I said laughing, 
 and encircling her dainty waist with one arm as I walked. 
 
 '' Oh, are there not though !" she exclaimed, laughing also. 
 ** Why, you don't suppose you can give any sort of big enter- 
 tainment without them, do you? They permeate society. Old 
 Lady Maravale, for example, who is rather reduced in circum- 
 stances, writes a guinea's worth of scandal a week for one of 
 the papers. And she is here, — I saw her simply gorging her- 
 self with chicken salad and truffles an hour ago !" Here 
 pausing, and resting against my arm, she peered through the 
 trees. 'There are the chimneys of ' Lily Cottage,' where the 
 famous Mavis Clare lives," she said. 
 
 ** Yes, I know," I replied readily. " Rimanez and I have 
 visited her. She is away just now, or she would have been 
 here to-day." 
 
 *' Do you like her ?" Sibyl queried. 
 
 •' Very much. She is charming." 
 
 ''And . . . the prince . . . does he like her ?" 
 
 " Well, upon my word," I answered with a smile, " I think 
 he likes her more than he does most women ! He showed the 
 most extraordinary deference towards her, and seemed almost 
 abashed in her presence. Are you cold, Sibyl?" I added 
 hastily, for she shivered suddenly and her face grew pale. 
 "You had better come away from the river, — it is damp under 
 these trees." 
 
 " Yes, — let us go back to the gardens and the sunshine," she 
 answered dreamily. "So your eccentric friend— the woman- 
 hater — finds something to admire in Mavis Clare. She must 
 be a very happy creature I think, — perfectly free, famous, and 
 believing in all good things of life and humanity, if one may 
 judge from her books." 
 
 " Well, taken altogether, life isn't so very bad !" I observed 
 playfully. 
 
 She made no reply, and we returned to the lawns where 
 afternoon tea was now being served to the guests who were 
 seated in brilliant scattered groups under the trees or within 
 
 M 23 
 
266 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the silken pavilions, while the sweetest music, — and the 
 strangest, if people only had ears to hear it, — both vocal and 
 instrumental, was being performed by those invisible players 
 and singers whose secret whereabouts was unknown to all, save 
 Lucio. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Just as the sun began to sink, several little pages came out 
 of the house, and with low salutations, distributed among the 
 guests, daintily embos-ed and painted programmes of the 
 
 * Tableaux Vivants,' prepared for their diversion in the extem- 
 porized bijou theatre. Numbers of people rose at once from 
 their chairs on the lawn, eager for this new spec tacle, and 
 began to scramble along and hustle one another in that 
 effective style of ' high breeding' so frequently exhibited at Her 
 Majesty's Drawing-Rooms. I, with Sibyl, hastily preceded 
 the impatient, pushing crowd, for I wished to find a good 
 seat for my beautiful betrothed before the room became full 
 to overflowing. The reproved, however, to be plenty of ac- 
 commodation for everybody, — what space there was seemed 
 capable of limitless expansion, and all the spectators were 
 comfortably placed without difficulty. Soon we were all 
 studying our programmes with considerable interest, for the 
 titles of the ' Tableaux' were somewhat original and mystifying. 
 They were eight in number, and were respectively headed, 
 
 * Society,' 'Bravery: Ancient and Modern,' 'A Lost Angel,' 
 'The Autocrat,' * A Corner of Hell,' ' Seeds of Corruption,' 
 ' His Latest Purchase,' and ' Faith and Materialism.* It was 
 in the theatre that everyone became at last conscious of the 
 weirdly beautiful character of the music that had been surging 
 round them all day. Seated under one roof in more or less 
 enforced silence and attention, the vague and frivolous ' so- 
 ciety' throng grew hushed and passive, — the ' society smirk' 
 passed off certain faces that were as trained to grin as their 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 267 
 
 tongues were trained to lie, — the dreadful giggle of the 
 unwedded man-hunter was no longer heard, and soon the 
 most exaggerated fashion-plate of a woman forgot to rustle 
 her gown. The passionate vibrations of a violoncello su- 
 perbly played to a double harp accompaniment throbbed 
 on the stillness with a beseeching depth of sound, — and 
 people listened, I saw, almost breathlessly, entranced, as 
 it were, against their wills, and staring as though they were 
 hypnotized, in front of them at the gold curtain with its 
 familiar motto — 
 
 " All the world's a stage 
 And all the men and women merely players." 
 
 Before we had time to applaud the violoncello solo, however, 
 the music changed, and the mirthful voices of violins and 
 flutes rang out in a waltz of the giddiest and sweetest tune. 
 At the same instant a silvery bell tinkled, and the curtain 
 parted noiselessly in twain, disclosing the first tableau — 
 'Society.' An exquisite female figure, arrayed in evening- 
 dress of the richest and most extravagant design, stood before 
 us, her hair crowned with diamonds, and her bosom blazing 
 with the same lustrous gems. Her head was slightly raised, 
 — her lips parted in a languid smile, — in one hand she held 
 up-lifted a glass of foaming champagne, — her gold-slippered 
 foot trod on an hour-glass. Behind her, catching convulsively 
 at the folds of her train, crouched another woman, in rags, 
 pinched and wretched, with starvation depicted in her face, — 
 a dead child lay near. And, overshadowing this group, were 
 two Supernatural shapes, — one in scarlet, the other in black, 
 — vast and almost beyond the stature of humanity, — the scarlet 
 figure represented Anarchy, and its blood-red fingers were ad- 
 vanced to clutch the diamond crown from ' Society's' brow, 
 — the sable-robed form was Death, and even as we looked, it 
 slowly raised its steely dart in act to strike. The effect was 
 weird and wonderful,— and the grim lesson the picture con- 
 veyed was startling enough to make a very visible impression. 
 
268 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 No one spoke, — no one applauded, — but people moved rest- 
 lessly and fidgeted on their seats, — and there was an audible 
 sigh of relief as the curtain closed. Opening again, it dis- 
 played the second tableau — 'Bravery: Ancient and Modern.' 
 This was in two scenes; — the first one depicted a nobleman 
 of Elizabeth's time, with rapier drawn, his foot on the pros- 
 trate body of a coarse ruffian who had evidently, from the 
 grouping, insulted a woman whose slight figure was dis- 
 cerned shrinking timidly away from the contest. This was 
 'Ancient Bravery,' — and it changed rapidly to 'Modern,' 
 showing us an enervated, narrow-shouldered, pallid dandy in 
 opera-coat and hat, smoking a cigarette and languidly appeal- 
 ing to a bulky policeman to protect him from another young 
 noodle of his own class, similarly attired, who was represented 
 as sneaking round a corner in abject terror. We all recognised 
 the force of the application, and were in a much better humour 
 with this pictured satire than we had been at the lesson of 
 'Society.' Next followed 'A Lost Angel,' in which was 
 shown a great hall in the palace of a king, where there were 
 numbers of brilliantly attired people, all grouped in various 
 attitudes, and evidently completely absorbed in their own 
 concerns, so much so as to be entirely unconscious of the 
 fact that in their very midst stood a wondrous Angel, clad in 
 dazzling white, with a halo round her fair hair, and a glory, 
 as of the sunset, on her half drooping wings. Her eyes were 
 wistful, — her face was pensive and expectant ; she seemed to 
 say, "Will the world ever know that 1 am here ?'' Somehow, 
 — as the curtain slowly closed again, amid loud applause, for 
 the picture was extraordinarily beautiful, — I thought of Mavis 
 Clare, and sighed. Sibyl looked up at me. 
 
 "Why do you sigh?" she said. " It is a lovely fancy, — 
 but the symbol is wasted in the present audience, — no one 
 with education believes in Angels now-a-days." 
 
 " True !" I assented ; yet there was a heaviness at my heart, 
 for her words reminded me of what I would rather have for- 
 gotten, — namely, her own admitted lack of all religious faith. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 269 
 
 'The Autocrat,' was the next tableau, and represented an 
 Emperor enthroned. At his footstool knelt a piteous crowd 
 of the starving and oppressed, holding up their lean hands to 
 him, clasped in anguished petition, but he looked away from 
 them as though he saw them not. His head was turned to 
 listen to the side-whisper of one who seemed, by the courtly 
 bend and flattering smile, to be his adviser and confidant, — 
 yet that very confidant held secreted behind his back a drawn 
 dagger, ready to strike his sovereign to the heart. '' Russia !" 
 whispered one or two of the company, as the scene was ob- 
 scured ; but the scarcely-breathed suggestion quickly passed 
 into a murmur of amazement and awe as the curtain parted 
 again to disclose 'A Corner of Hell.' This tableau was in- 
 deed original, and quite unlike what might have been imagined 
 as the conventional treatment of such a subject. What we 
 saw was a black and hollow cavern, glittering alternately with 
 the flashings of ice and fire, — huge icicles drooped from above, 
 and pale flames leaped stealthily into view from below, and 
 within the dark embrasure the shadowy form of a man was 
 seated, counting out gold, or what seemed to be gold. Yet as 
 coin after coin slipped through his ghostly fingers, each one 
 was seen to change to fire, — and the lesson thus pictured was 
 easily read. The lost soul had made its own torture, and was 
 still at work intensifying and increasing its own fiery agony. 
 Much as this scene was admired for its Rembrandt effect of 
 light and shade, I personally was glad when it was curtained 
 from view ; there was something in the dreadful face of the 
 doomed sinner that reminded me forcibly and unpleasantly of 
 those ghastly Three I had seen in my horrid vision on the 
 night of Viscount Lynton's suicide. ' Seeds of Corruption' 
 was the next picture, and showed us a young and beautiful 
 girl in her early teens, lying on a luxurious couch en deshabille^ 
 with a novel in her hand, of which the title was plainly seen 
 by all — a novel well known to everyone present, and the 
 work of a much-praised living author. Round her, on the 
 floor, and cast carelessly on a chair at her side, were other 
 
 23* 
 
270 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 novels of the same 'sexual' type, — all their titles turned 
 towards us, and the names of their authors equally made 
 manifest. 
 
 '' What a daring idea !" said a lady in the seat immediately 
 behind me. " I wonder if any of those authors are present !" 
 
 " If they are, they won't mind !" replied the man next to her 
 with a smothered laugh. " Those sort of writers would merely 
 take it as a first-class advertisement !" 
 
 Sibyl looked at the tableau with a pale face and wistful eyes. 
 
 " That is a /me picture !" she said under her breath. 
 " Geoffrey, it is painfully true !" 
 
 I made no answer, — I thought I knew to what she alluded ; 
 but alas ! — I did not know how deeply the ' seeds of corrup- 
 tion' had been sown in her own nature, or what a harvest 
 they would bring forth. The curtain closed, — to open again 
 almost immediately on 'His Latest Purchase.' Here we 
 were shown the interior of a luxurious modern drawing-room, 
 where about eight or ten men were assembled, in fashionable 
 evening-dress. They had evidently just risen from a card- 
 table, and one of them, a dissipated looking brute, with a 
 wicked smile of mingled satire and triumph on his face, was 
 pointing to his 'purchase,' — a beautiful woman. She was 
 clad in glistening white like a bride, — but she was bound, as 
 prisoners are bound, to an upright column, on w^hich the 
 grinning head of a marble Silenus leered above her. Her 
 hands were tied tightly together, — with chains of diamonds ; 
 her waist was bound, — with thick ropes of pearls; a wide 
 collar of rubies encircled her throat ; and from bosom to feet 
 she was netted about and tied, — with strings of gold and 
 gems. Her head was flung back defiantly with an assumption 
 of pride and scorn, — her eyes alone expressed shame, self- 
 contempt and despair at her bondage. The man who owned 
 this white slave was represented, by his attitude, as cata- 
 loguing and appraising her ' points' for the approval and ap- 
 plause of his comrades, whose faces variously and powerfully 
 expressed the different emotions of lust, cruelty, envy, cal- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 271 
 
 lousness, contempt, and selfishness, more admirably than the 
 most gifted painter could imagine. 
 
 **A capital type of most fashionable marriages!" I heard 
 someone say. 
 
 " Rather I" another voice replied. '' The orthodox ' happy 
 couple' to the life !" 
 
 I glanced at Sibyl. She looked pale, — but smiled as she 
 met my questioning eyes. A sense of c(^nsolation crept 
 warmly about my heart as I remembered that now, she had, 
 as she told me, 'learnt to love,' and that therefore her mar- 
 riage with me was no longer a question of material advantage 
 alone. She was not my 'purchase,' — she was my love, my 
 saint, my queen ! — or so I chose to think, in my foolishness 
 and vanity. 
 
 The last tableau of all was now to come, — ' Faith and 
 Materialism,' — and it proved to be the most startling of the 
 series. The auditorium was gradually darkened, and the 
 dividing curtain disclosed a ravishingly beautiful scene by the 
 sea-shore. A full moon cast its tranquil glory over the smooth 
 waters, and, rising on rainbow-wings from earth towards the 
 skies, one of the loveliest creatures ever dreamed of by poet 
 or painter, floated angel-like upward, her hands holding a 
 cluster of lilies clasped to her breast, — her lustrous eyes full of 
 divine joy, hope, and love. Exquisite music was heard, — soft 
 voices sang in the distance a chorale of rejoicing ; — heaven 
 and earth, sea and air, — all seemed to support the aspiring 
 Spirit as she soared higher and higher, in ever-deepening 
 rapture, when, — as we all watched that aerial flying form with 
 a sense of the keenest delight and satisfaction, — a sudden crash 
 of thunder sounded, — the scene grew dark, — and there was a 
 distant roaring of angry waters. The light of the moon was 
 eclipsed, — the music ceased ; a faint lurid glow of red shone 
 at first dimly, then more vividly, — and ' Materialism' declared 
 itself, — a human skeleton ! — bleached white and grinning 
 ghastly mirth upon us all ! While we yet looked, the skeleton 
 itself dropped to pieces, and one long twining worm lifted its 
 
272 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 slimy length from the wreck of bones, another working its 
 way through the eye-holes of the skull. Murmurs of genuine 
 horror were heard in the auditorium, — people on all sides rose 
 from their seats, — one man in particular, a distinguished pro- 
 fessor of science, pushed past me to get out, muttering crossly, 
 " This may be very amusing to some of you, but to me, it is 
 disgusting ! ' ' 
 
 " Like your own theories, my dear Professor !" said a rich 
 laughing voice, as Lucio met him on his way, and the bijou 
 theatre was again flooded with cheerful light. "They are 
 
 amusing to some, and disgusting to others ! Pardon me ! 
 
 I speak of course in jest ! But I designed that tableau specially 
 in your honour ! ' ' 
 
 " Oh, you did, did you?" growled the Professor. " Well, 
 I didn't appreciate it." 
 
 "Yet you should have done, for it is quite scientifically 
 correct," declared Lucio laughing still. "Faith, with the 
 wings, whom you saw joyously flying towards an impossible 
 heaven, is nof scientifically correct, — have you not told us so ? 
 — but the skeleton and the worms were quite of your a//^ / 
 No materialist can deny the correctness of that ' complexion 
 to which we all must come at last.' Positively, some of the 
 ladies look quite pale ! How droll it is, that while everybody 
 (to be fashionable, and in favour with the press) must accept 
 Materialism as the only creed, they should invariably become 
 affrighted, or let us say offended, at the natural end of the 
 body, as completed by material agencies !" 
 
 " Well, it was not a pleasant subject, that last tableau," said 
 Lord Elton, as he came out of the theatre with Diana Chesney 
 hanging confidingly on his arm. " You cannot say it was 
 festal!" 
 
 " It was, — for the worms !" replied Lucio gaily. — " Come, 
 Miss Chesney, and you. Tempest, come along with Lady Sibyl, 
 — let us go out in the grounds again and see my will-o'-the- 
 wisps lighting up." 
 
 Fresh curiosity was excited by this remark; the people 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 273 
 
 quickly threw off the gruesome and tragic impression made 
 by the strange ' tableaux' just witnessed, and poured out of 
 the house into the gardens chattering and laughing more 
 noisily than ever. It was just dusk, and as we reached the 
 open lawn we saw an extraordinary number of small boys, clad 
 in brown, running about with will-o'-the-wisp lanterns. Their 
 movements were swift and perfectly noiseless, — they leaped, 
 jumped and twirled like little gnomes over flower-beds, under 
 shrubberies, and along the edges of paths and terraces, many 
 of them climbing trees with the rapidity and agility of 
 monkeys, and wherever they went they left behind them a 
 trail of brilliant light. Soon, by their efforts, all the grounds 
 were illuminated with a magnificence that could not have been 
 equalled even by the historic fetes at Versailles, — tall oaks and 
 cedars were transformed to pyramids of fire-blossoms, — every 
 branch was loaded with coloured lamps in the shape of stars, — 
 rockets hissed up into the clear space showering down bouquets, 
 wreaths and ribbons of flame, — lines of red and azure ran 
 glowingly along the grass-borders, and, amid the enthusiastic 
 applause of the assembled spectators, eight huge fire fountains 
 of all colours sprang up in various corners of the garden, while 
 an enormous golden balloon, dazzlingly luminous, ascended 
 slowly into the air and remained poised above us, sending from 
 its glittering car hundreds of gem-like birds and butterflies on 
 fiery wings, that circled round and round for a moment and 
 then vanished. While we were yet loudly clapping the splen- 
 did effect of this sky-spectacle, a troop of beautiful girl-dancers 
 in white came running across the grass, waving long silvery 
 wands that were tipped with electric stars, and to the sound of 
 strange tinkling music, seemingly played in the distance on 
 glass bells, they commenced a fantastic dance of the wildest 
 yet most graceful character. Every shade of opaline colour 
 fell upon their swaying figures from some invisible agency as 
 they tripped and whirled, — and each time they waved their 
 wands, ribbons and flags of fire were unrolled and tossed high 
 in air, where they gyrated for a long time like moving hiero- 
 
274 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 glyphs. The scene was now so startling, so fairy like and 
 wonderful, that we were well-nigh struck speechless with 
 astonishment ; too fascinated and absorbed even to applaud, 
 we had no conception how time went, or how rapidly the 
 night descended, till all at once, without the least warning, an 
 appalling crash of thunder burst immediately above our heads, 
 and a jagged fork of lightning tore the hmiinous fire-balloon 
 to shreds. Two or three women began to scream, — whereupon 
 Lucio advanced from the throng of spectators and stood in 
 full view of all, holding up his hand. 
 
 ** Stage thunder, I assure you !" he said playfully, in a clear, 
 somewhat scornful voice. '' It comes and goes at my bidding. 
 Quite a part of the game, believe me ! — these sort of things 
 are only toys for children. Again — again, ye petty elements !" 
 he cried, laughing, and lifting his handsome face and flashing 
 eyes to the dark heavens, — '' roar your best and loudest ! — 
 roar, I say ! ' ' 
 
 Such a terrific boom and clatter answered him as baffled 
 all description, — it was as if a mountain of rock had fallen 
 into ruins, — but having been assured that the deafening noise 
 was 'stage thunder' merely, the spectators were no longer 
 alarmed, and many of them expressed their opinion that it was 
 * wonderfully well done.' After this, there gradually appeared 
 against the sky a broad blaze of red light like the reflection of 
 some great prairie fire, — it streamed apparently upward from 
 the ground, bathing us all where we stood, in its blood-like 
 glow. The white-robed dancing girls waltzed on and on, their 
 arms entwined, their lovely faces irradiated by the lurid flame, 
 while above them now flew creatures with black wings, bats 
 and owls and great night moths that flapped and fluttered 
 about for all the world as if they were truly alive and not mere 
 'stage properties.' Another flash of lightning, — and one 
 more booming thud of thunder, — and lo ! — the undisturbed 
 and fragrapt night was about us, clear, dewy and calm, — the 
 young moon smiled pensively in a cloudless heaven, — all the 
 dancing-girls had vanished, — the crimson glow had changed 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 275 
 
 to a pure silvery radiance, and an array of pretty pages, in 
 eighteenth-century costumes of pale pink and blue, stood be- 
 fore us with lighted flaming torches, making a long triumphal 
 avenue down which Lucio invited us to pass. 
 
 ''On, on, fair ladies and gallant gentlemen!" he cried. 
 *' This extemporized path of light leads, — not to Heaven — 
 no ! that were far too dull an ending ! — but to supper ! On ! 
 — follow your leader !" 
 
 Every eye was turned on his fine figure and striking coun- 
 tenance, as with one hand he beckoned the guests, — between 
 the double line of lit torches he stood, a picture for a painter, 
 with those dark eyes of his alit with such strange mirth as 
 could not be defined, and the sweet, half cruel, wonderfully 
 attractive smile playing upon his lips ; — and with one accord 
 the whole company trooped pell-mell after him, shouting their 
 applause and delight. Who could resist him ! — not one in 
 that assemblage at least; — there are few 'saints' in society! 
 As I went with the rest, I felt as though I were in some 
 gorgeous dream, — my senses were all in a whirl, — I was giddy 
 with excitement and could not stop to think, or to analyze the 
 emotions by which I was governed. Had I possessed the 
 force or the will to pause and consider, I might possibly have 
 come to the conclusion that there was something altogether 
 beyond the ordinary power of man displayed in the successive 
 wonders of this brilliant ' gala' ; but I was, like all the rest of 
 society, bent merely on the pleasure of the moment, regardless 
 of how it was procured, what it cost me, or how it affected 
 others. How many I see and know to-day among the wor- 
 shippers of fashion and frivolity who are acting precisely as I 
 acted then ! Indifferent to the welfare of everyone save 
 themselves, grudging every penny that is not spent on their 
 own advantage or amusement, and too callous to even listen to 
 the sorrows or difficulties or joys of others when these do not 
 in some way, near or remote, touch their own interests, they 
 waste their time day after day in selfish trifling, wilfully blind 
 and unconscious to the fact that they are building up their own 
 
2 76 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 fate in the future, — that future which will prove all the more a 
 terrible Reality in proportion to the extent of our presumption 
 in daring to doubt its truth. 
 
 More than four hundred guests sat down to supper in the 
 largest pavilion, — a supper served in the most costly manner, 
 and furnished with luxuries that represented the utmost pitch 
 of extravagance. I ate and drank, with Sibyl at my side, 
 hardly knowing what I said or did in the whirling excitement 
 of the hour. The opening of champagne bottles, the clink of 
 glasses, the clatter of plates, the loud hum of talk interspersed 
 with monkey-like squeals or goat-like whinnies of laughter, 
 over-ridden at intervals by the blare of trumpet-music and 
 drums, — all these sounds were as so much noise of rushing 
 waters in my ears, and I often found myself growing ab- 
 stracted, and in a manner confused by the din. I did not 
 say much to Sibyl, — one cannot very well whisper sentimental 
 nothings in the ear of one's betrothed when she is eating 
 ortolans and truffles. Presently, amid all the hubbub, a deep 
 bell struck twelve times, and Lucio stood up at the end of one 
 of the long tables, a full glass of foaming champagne in his 
 hand — 
 
 *' Ladies and gentlemen !" 
 
 There was a sudden silence. 
 
 *' Ladies and gentlemen!" he repeated, his brilliant eyes 
 flashing derisively, I thought, over the whole well-fed com- 
 pany ; *' midnight has struck and the best of friends must 
 part ! But before we do so, let us not forget that we have 
 met here to wish all happiness to our host, Mr Geoffrey Tem- 
 pest, and his bride-elect, the Lady Sibyl Elton." Here there 
 was vociferous applause. *' It is said," continued Lucio, " by 
 the makers of dull maxims, that ' Fortune never comes with 
 both hands full,' — but in this case the adage is proved false 
 and put to shame, for our friend has not only secured the 
 pleasures of wealth, but the treasures of love and beauty com- 
 bined. Limitless cash is good, but limitless love is better ; 
 and both these choice gifts have been bestowed on the be- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 277 
 
 trothed pair whom to-day we honour. I will ask you to give 
 them a hearty round of cheering, — and then it must be good- 
 night indeed, though not farewell, for with the toast of the 
 bride and bridegroom-elect, I shall also drink to the time, — 
 not far distant perhaps, — when I shall see some of you, if not 
 all of you again, and enjoy even more of your charming com- 
 pany than I have done to-day ! ' ' 
 
 He ceased amid a perfect hurricane of applause, — and then 
 everyone rose and turned towards the table where I sat with 
 Sibyl, and naming our names aloud, drank wine, the men 
 joining in hearty shouts of " Hip, hip, hip hurrah !" Yet, — 
 as I bowed repeatedly in response to the storm of cheering, 
 and while Sibyl smiled and bent her graceful head to right 
 and left, my heart sank suddenly with a sense of fear. Was it 
 my fancy — or did I hear peals of wild laughter circling round 
 the brilliant pavilion and echoing away, far away into dis- 
 tance? I listened, glass in hand. ''Hip, hip, hip hurrah !" 
 shouted my guests with gusto. "Ha — ha — ! ha — ha!" 
 seemed shrieked and yelled in my ears from the outer air. 
 Struggling against this delusion, I got up and returned thanks 
 for myself and my future bride in a few brief words which 
 were received with fresh salvos of applause, — and then we all 
 became aware that Lucio had sprung up again in his place 
 and was standing high above us all with one foot on the table 
 and the other on the chair, confronting us with a fresh glass 
 of wine in his hand, filled to the brim. What a face he had 
 at that moment ! — what a smile ! 
 
 ''The parting cup, my friends !" he exclaimed. ''To our 
 next merry meeting !" 
 
 With plaudits and laughter the guests eagerly and noisily 
 responded, — and as they drank, the pavilion was flooded by 
 a deep crimson illumination as of fire ! Every face looked 
 blood-red, — every jewel on every woman flashed like a living 
 flame ! — for one brief instant only, — then it was gone ; and 
 there followed a general stampede of the company, — every- 
 body hurrying as fast as they could into the carriages that 
 
 24 
 
278 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 waited in long lines to take them to the station, the last two 
 'special' trains to London being at one a.m. and one-thirty. 
 I bade Sibyl and her father a hurried good-night. Diana 
 Chesney went in the same carriage with them, full of ecstatic 
 thanks and praise to me for the splendours of the day, which 
 she described in her own fashion as " knowing how to do it." 
 And then the departing crowd of vehicles began to thunder 
 down the avenue. As they went, an arch of light suddenly 
 spanned Willowsmere Court from end to end of its red gables, 
 blazing with all the colours of the rainbow, in the middle of 
 which appeared letters of pale blue and gold, forming what 
 I had hitherto considered as a funereal device — 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi ! Vale ! 
 
 But, after all, it was as fairly applicable to the ephemeral 
 splendours of a fete as it was to the more lasting marble 
 solemnity of a sepulchre, and I thought little or nothing 
 about it. So perfect were all the arrangements, and so ad- 
 mirably were the servants trained, that the guests were not 
 long in departing, and the grounds were soon not only 
 empty but dark. Not a vestige of the splendid illumina- 
 tions was left anywhere, — and I entered the house fatigued 
 and with a dull sense of bewilderment and fear on me which 
 I could not explain. I found Lucio alone in the smoking- 
 room at the further end of the oak-panelled hall, a small 
 cosily curtained apartment with a deep bay window which 
 opened directly on to the lawn. He was standing in this 
 embrasure with his back to me, but he turned swiftly round 
 as he heard my steps and confronted me with such a wild, 
 white, tortured face, that I recoiled from him, startled. 
 
 "Lucio, you are ill!" I exclaimed; ''you have done too 
 much to-day." 
 
 " Perhaps I have !" he answered in a hoarse unsteady voice, 
 and I saw a strong shudder convulse him as he spoke ; then, 
 gathering himself together as it were by an effort, he forced 
 a smile, — *' Don't be alarmed, my friend! — it is nothing, — 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 279 
 
 nothing but the twinge of an old deep-seated malady, — a 
 troublesome disease that is rare among men, and hopelessly- 
 incurable." 
 
 ''What is it?" I asked anxiously, for his death like pallor 
 alarmed me. He looked at me fixedly, his eyes dilating and 
 darkening, and his hand fell with a heavy pressure on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 "A very strange illness!" he said, in the same jarring 
 accents. " Remorse ! Have you never heard of it, Geoffrey ? 
 Neither medicine nor surgery are of any avail, — it is ' the 
 worm that dieth not, and the flame that cannot be quenched.' 
 Tut ! — let us not talk of it, — no one can cure me, — no one 
 will ! I am past hope. ' ' 
 
 '' But remorse — if you have it, and I cannot possibly 
 imagine why, for you have surely nothing to regret — is not a 
 physical ailment !" I said wonderingly. 
 
 "And physical ailments are the only ones worth troubling 
 about, you think?" he queried, still smiling that strained and 
 haggard smile. *' The body is our chief care, — we cosset it, 
 and make much of it, feed it and pamper it, and guard it 
 from so much as a pin-prick of pain if we can, — and thus 
 we flatter ourselves that all is' well, — all must be well! Yet 
 it is but a clay chrysalis, bound to split and crumble with the 
 growth of the moth-soul within, — the moth that flies with 
 blind instinctiveness straight into the Unknown and is daz- 
 zled by excess of light ! Look out here," he went on with 
 an abrupt and softer change of tone. ''Look out at the 
 dreamful shadowy beauty of your gardens now ! The flowers 
 are asleep, — the trees are surely glad to be disburdened of 
 all the gaudy artificial lamps that lately hung upon their 
 branches, — there is the young moon pillowing her chin on 
 the edge of a little cloud and sinking to sleep in the west, — 
 a moment ago there was a late nightingale awake and singing. 
 You can feel the breath of the roses from the trellis yonder ! 
 All this is Nature's work, — and how much fairer and sweeter 
 it is now than when the lights were ablaze and the blare of 
 
28o THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 band-music startled the small birds in their downy nests ! 
 Yet 'society' would not appreciate this cool dusk, this happy 
 solitude, — * society' prefers a false glare to all true radiance. 
 And what is worse, it tries to make true things take a second 
 place as adjuncts to sham ones, — and there comes in the mis- 
 chief." 
 
 "It is just like you to run down }our own indefatigable 
 labours in the splendid successes of the day," I said, laugh- 
 ing. '' You may call it a ' false glare' if you like, but it has 
 been a most magnificent spectacle, — and certainly in the way 
 of entertainments it will never be equalled or excelled." 
 
 "It will make you more talked about than even your 
 'boomed' book could do !" said Lucio, eyeing me narrowly. 
 
 " Not the least doubt of that !" I replied. " Society pre- 
 fers food and amusement to any literature, — even the greatest. 
 By-the-by, where are all the 'artistes,' — the musicians and 
 dancers?" 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 " Gone ! " I echoed amazedly. " Already ! Good heavens ! 
 have they had supper?" 
 
 " They have had everything they want, even to their pay," 
 said Lucio, a trifle impatiently. "Did I not tell you, Geof- 
 frey, that when I undertake to do anything I do it thoroughly 
 or not at all?" 
 
 I looked at him, — he smiled, but his eyes were sombre and 
 scornful. 
 
 "All right !" I responded carelessly, not wishing to offend 
 him. " Have it your own way ! But, upon my word, to me 
 it is all like devil's magic !" 
 
 "What is?" he asked imperturbably. 
 
 "Everything! — the dancers, the number of servants and 
 pages — why, there must have been two or three hundred of 
 them, — those wonderful 'tableaux,' the illuminations, the 
 supper, — everything, I tell you ! — and the most astonishing 
 part of it now is that all these people should have cleared out 
 so soon !" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 281 
 
 ''Well, if you elect to call money devil's magic, you are 
 right," said Lucio. 
 
 *'But surely in some cases not even money could procure 
 such perfection of detail," I began. 
 
 ''Money can procure anything!" he interrupted, a thrill 
 of passion vibrating in his rich voice, — " I told you that long 
 ago. It is a hook for the devil himself. Not that the devil 
 could be supposed to care about world's cash personally, but 
 he generally conceives a liking for the company of the man 
 who possesses it ; — possibly he knows what that man will do 
 with it. I speak metaphorically of course, — but no meta- 
 phor can exaggerate the power of money. Trust no man 
 or woman's virtue till you have tried to purchase it with a 
 round sum in hard cash ! Money, my excellent Geoffrey, 
 has done everything for you, — remember that ! — you have 
 done nothing for yourself." 
 
 " That's not a very kind speech," I said somewhat vexedly. 
 
 "No? And why? Because it's true? I notice most 
 people complain of * unkindness' when they are told a truth. 
 It is true, and I see no unkindness in it. You've done noth- 
 ing for yourself, and you're not expected to do anything — 
 except" — and he laughed — "except just now to get to bed, 
 and dream of the enchanting Sibyl !" 
 
 " I confess I am tired," I said, and an unconscious sigh 
 escaped me. "And you?" 
 
 His gaze rested broodingly on the outer landscape. 
 
 " I also am tired," he responded slowly. " But I never get 
 away from my fatigue, for I am tired of myself. And I 
 always rest badly. Good-night !" 
 
 "Good-night!" I answered, and then paused, looking at 
 him. He returned my look with interest. 
 
 "Well?" he asked expressively. 
 
 I forced a smile. 
 
 " Well !" I echoed — " I do not know what I should say, — 
 except — that I wish I knew you as you are. I feel that you 
 were right in telling me once that you are not what you seem." 
 
 24* 
 
282 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 He still kept his eyes fixed upon me. 
 
 "As you have expressed the wish," he said slowly, ''I 
 promise you, you shall know me as I am, some day. It may 
 be well for you to know, — for the sake of others who may 
 seek to cultivate my company." 
 
 I moved away to leave the room. 
 
 '' Thanks for all the trouble you have taken to-day," I said 
 in a lighter tone; '' though I shall never be able to express 
 my full gratitude in words." 
 
 *'If you want to thank anybody, thank God that you have 
 lived through it !" he replied. 
 
 ''Why?" I asked, astonished. 
 
 "Why? Because life hangs on a thread, — a society crush 
 is the very acme of boredom and exhaustion, — and that we 
 escape with our lives from a general guzzle and giggle is 
 matter for thanksgiving, — that's all ! And God gets so few 
 thanks as a rule, that you may surely spare Him a brief one 
 for to-day's satisfactory ending." 
 
 I laughed, seeing no meaning in his words beyond the usual 
 satire he affected. I found Amiel, waiting for me in my bed- 
 room, but I dismissed him abruptly, hating the look of his 
 crafty and sullen face, and saying I needed no attendance. 
 Thoroughly fatigued, I was soon in bed and asleep, — and the 
 terrific agencies that had produced the splendours of the bril- 
 liant festival at which I had figured as host were not revealed 
 to me by so much as a warning dream ! 
 
 XXV 
 
 A FEW days after the entertainment at Willowsmere, and 
 before the society papers had done talking about the magnifi- 
 cence and luxury displayed on that occasion, I woke up one 
 morning, like the great poet Byron, " to find myself famous." 
 Not for any intellectual achievement, — not for any unex- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 283 
 
 pected deed ot heroism, — not for any resolved or noble atti- 
 tude in society or politics, — no ! — I owed my fame merely to 
 a quadruped ; — ' Phosphor' won the Derby. It was about 
 a neck-and-neck contest between my racer and that of the 
 Prime Minister, and for a second or so the result seemed 
 doubtful, — but as the two jockeys neared the goal, Amiel, 
 whose thin wiry figure, clad in the brightest of bright scarlet 
 silk, stuck to his horse as though he were a part of it, put 
 * Phosphor' to a pace he had never yet exhibited, appearing 
 to skim along the ground at literally flying speed, — the upshot 
 being that he scored a triumphant victory, reaching the wun- 
 ning-post a couple of yards or more ahead of his rival. Accla- 
 mations rent the air at the vigour displayed in the 'finibh,' 
 and I became the hero of the day, — the darling of the popu- 
 lace. I was somewhat amused at the Premier's discomfiture, 
 — he took his beating rather badly. He did not know me, 
 nor I him. I was not of his politics, and I did not care a jot 
 for his feelings one way or the other, but I was gratified in a 
 certain satirical sense, to find myself suddenly acknowledged 
 as a greater man than he, because I was the owner of the 
 Derby- winner ! Before I well knew where I was, I found 
 myself being presented to the Prince of Wales, who shook 
 hands with me and congratulated me ; — all the biggest aristo- 
 crats in England were willing and eager to be introduced to 
 me ;— and inwardly I laughed at this exhibition of taste and 
 culture on the part of ' the gentlemen of England that live at 
 home at ease.' They crowded round ' Phosphor,' whose wild 
 eye warned strangers against taking liberties with him, but 
 who seemed not a whit the worse for his exertions, and who 
 apparently was quite ready to run the race over again with 
 equal pleasure and success. Amiel 's dark sly face and cruel 
 ferret eyes were evidently not attractive to the majority of the 
 gentlemen of the turf, though his answers to all the queries put 
 to him were admirably ready, respectful and not without wit. 
 But to me the whole sum and substance of the occasion was 
 the fact that I, Geoffrey Tempest, once struggling author,^now 
 
284 I^HE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 millionaire, was simply by virtue of my ownership of the 
 Derby-winner, * famous' at last !— or what society considers 
 famous, — that fame that secures for a man the attention of 
 'the nobility and gentry,' to quote from tradesmen's adver- 
 tisements, — and also obtains the persistent adulation and 
 shameless pursuit of all the demi-mondaines who want jewels 
 and horses and yachts presented to them in exchange for a few 
 tainted kisses from their carmined lips. Under the shower of 
 compliments I received I stood, apparently delighted,— smil- 
 ing, affable and courteous, — entering into the spirit of the 
 occasion, and shaking hands with my Lord That, and Sir 
 Something Nobody, and His Serene Highness the Grand Duke 
 So-and-So of Beer-Land, and His other Serene Lowness of 
 Small-Principality, — but in my secret soul I scorned these 
 people with their social humbug and hypocrisy, — scorned them 
 with such a deadly scorn as almost amazed myself. When 
 presently I walked off the course with Lucio, who as usual 
 seemed to know and to be friends with everybody, he spoke 
 in accents that were far more grave and gentle than I had ever 
 heard him use before. 
 
 *' With all your egotism, Geoffrey, there is something forci- 
 ble and noble in your nature, — something which rises up in 
 bold revolt against falsehood and sham. Why, in Heaven's 
 name, do you not give it way?" 
 
 I looked at him amazed, and laughed. 
 
 " Give it way ? What do you mean ? Would you have me 
 tell humbugs that I know them as such ? and liars that I dis- 
 cern their lies? My dear fellow, society would become too 
 hot to hold me !" 
 
 '' It could not be hotter — or colder — than hell, if you be- 
 lieved in hell, which you do not," he rejoined, in the same 
 quiet voice. " But I did not assume that you should say 
 these things straight out and bluntly to give offence. An 
 affronting candour is not nobleness, — it is merely coarse. To 
 act nobly is better than to speak." 
 
 "And what would you have me do?" I asked curiously. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 285 
 
 He was silent for a moment, and seemed to be earnestly, 
 almost painfully considering, — then he answered — 
 
 ** My advice will seem to you singular, Geoffrey, but if you 
 want it, here it is. Give, as I said, the noble, and what the 
 world would call the quixotic part of your nature full way, — 
 do not sacrifice your higher sense of what is right and just 
 for the sake of pandering to anyone's power or influence, — 
 and — say farewell to me ! I am no use to you, save to 
 humour your varying fancies, and introduce you to those 
 great — or small — personages you wish to know for your own 
 convenience or advantage ; believe me, it would be much 
 better for you and much more consoling at the inevitable 
 hour of death, if you were to let all this false and frivolous 
 nonsense go, and me with it ! Leave society to its own fool's 
 whirligig of distracted follies, put Royalty in its true place, 
 and show it that all its pomp, arrogance and glitter are worth- 
 less, and itself a nothing compared to the upright standing 
 of a brave soul in an honest man, and, as Christ said to the 
 rich ruler, ' Sell half that thou hast and give to the poor.' " 
 
 I was silent for a minute or so out of sheer surprise, while 
 he watched me closely, his face pale and expectant. A 
 curious shock of something like compunction startled my con- 
 science, and for a brief space I was moved to a vague re- 
 gret, — regret that with all the enormous capability I pos- 
 sessed of doing good to numbers of my fellow-creatures with 
 the vast wealth I owned, I had not attained to any higher 
 moral attitude than that represented by the frivolous folk who 
 make up what is called the ' Upper Ten' of society. I took 
 the same egotistical pleasure in myself and my own doings as 
 any of them, and I was to the full as foolishly conventional, 
 smooth-tongued and hypocritical as they. They acted their 
 part and I acted mine, — none of us were ever our real selves 
 for a moment. In very truth, one of the reasons why ' fash- 
 ionable' men and women cannot bear to be alone is, that a 
 solitude in which they are compelled to look face to face w\)Q\\ 
 their secret selves becomes unbearable Ijecause of the burden 
 
286 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 they carry of concealed vice and accusing shame. My emo- 
 tion soon passed, however, and slipping my arm through Lu- 
 cio's, I smiled, as I answered — 
 
 " Your advice, my dear fellow, would do credit to a Salva- 
 tionist preacher, but it is quite valueless to me, because im- 
 possible to follow. To say farewell for ever to you, in the 
 first place, would be to make myself guilty of the blackest 
 ingratitude ; in the second instance, society, with all its 
 ridiculous humbug, is nevertheless necessary for the amuse- 
 ment of myself and my future wife, — Royalty, moreover, is 
 accustomed to be flattered, and we shall not be hurt by join- 
 ing in the general inane chorus ; thirdly, if I did as the 
 visionary Jew suggested " 
 
 ^'What visionary Jew?" he asked, his eyes sparkling 
 coldly. 
 
 " Why, Christ of course !" I rejoined lightly. 
 
 The shadow of a strange smile parted his lips. 
 
 *'It is the fashion to blaspheme !" he said. ''A mark of 
 brilliancy in literature, and wit in society ! I forgot ! Pray 
 go on, — if you did as Christ suggested ' ' 
 
 *' Yes, — if I gave half my goods to the poor, I should not 
 be thanked for it, or considered anything but a fool for my 
 pains." 
 
 " You would wish to be thanked?" he said. 
 
 " Naturally ! Most people like a little gratitude in return 
 for benefits." 
 
 *' They do. And the Creator, who is always giving, is sup- 
 posed to like gratitude also," he observed; ''nevertheless, 
 He seldom gets it !" 
 
 *'I do not talk of hyperphysical nothingness," I said with 
 impatience. " I am speaking of the plain facts of this world 
 and the people who live in it. If one gives largely, one 
 expects to be acknowledged as generous ; but if I were to 
 divide my fortune, and hand half of it to the poor, the matter 
 would be chronicled in about six lines in one of the papers, 
 and society would exclaim, ' What a fool !' " 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 287 
 
 <* Then let us talk no more about it," said Lucio, his brows 
 clearing, and his eyes gathering again their wonted light of 
 mockery and mirth. ''Having won the Derby, you have 
 really done all a nineteenth-century civilization expects you 
 to do, and for your reward, you will be in universal demand 
 everywhere. You may hope soon to dine at Marlborough 
 House, — and a little back-stair influence and political jobbery 
 will work you into the Cabinet if you care for it. Did I not 
 tell you I would set you up as successfully as the bear who has 
 reached the bun on the top of the slippery pole, a spectacle 
 for the envy of men and the wonder of angels ? Well, there 
 you are ! — triumphant ! — a great creature, Geoffrey, — in fact, 
 you are the greatest product of the age, a man with five mil- 
 lions, and owner of the Derby-winner ! What is the glory 
 of intellect compared to such a position as yours ! Men envy 
 you, — and as for angels, — if there are any, — you may be sure 
 they do wonder ! A man's fame guaranteed by a horse is 
 something indeed to make an angel stare !" 
 
 He laughed uproariously, and from that day he never spoke 
 again of his singular proposition that I should ' part with 
 him,' and let the "nobler" nature in me have its way. I 
 was not to know then that he had staked a chance upon 
 my soul, and lost it, and that from henceforward he took a 
 determined course with me, implacably on to the appalling 
 end. 
 
 My marriage took place on the appointed day in June with 
 all the pomp and extravagant ' show' befitting my position 
 and that of the woman I had chosen to wed. It is needless 
 to describe the gorgeousness of the ceremony in detail, — 
 any fashionable ' ladies paper' describing the wedding of an 
 Earl's daughter to a five-fold millionaire, will give an idea, 
 in hysterical rhapsody, of the general effect. It was an 
 amazing scene, — and one in which cc^stly millinery completely 
 vanquished all considerations of solemnity or sacredness in 
 the supposed * divine' ordinance. The impressive command, 
 "I require and charge ye both, as ye will answer at the 
 
288 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 dreadful day of judgment," did not obtain half so much 
 awed attention as the exquisite knots of pearls and diamonds 
 which fastened the bride's silver-emboidered train to her 
 shoulders. 'All the world and his wife' were present, — that 
 is, the social world, which imagines no other world exists, 
 though it is the least part of the community. The Prince of 
 Wales honoured us by his presence ; two great dignitaries of 
 the church performed the marriage-rite, resplendent in re- 
 dundant fulness of white sleeve and surplice, and equally 
 imposing in the fatness of their bodies and unctuous redne-s 
 of their faces; and Lucio was my 'best man.' He was in 
 high, almost wild spirits, and, during our drive to the church 
 together, had entertained me all the way with numerous droll 
 stories, mostly at the expense of the clergy. When we reached 
 the sacred edifice, he said laughingly as he alighted — 
 
 " Did you ever hear it reported, Geoffrey, that the devil is 
 imable to enter a church, because of the cross upon it, or 
 within it?" 
 
 "I have heard some such nonsense," I replied, smiling at 
 the humour expressed in his sparkling eyes and eloquent 
 features. 
 
 '' It /j- nonsense, for the makers of the legend forgot one 
 thing," he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper as we 
 passed under the carved gothic portico, — ''the cross may be 
 
 present, but so is the clergyman ! And wherever a 
 
 clergyman goes the devil can follow !" 
 
 I almost laughed aloud at his manner of making this ir- 
 reverent observation, and the look with which he accom- 
 panied it. The rich tones of the organ creeping softly on the 
 flower-scented silence, however, quickly solemnized my mood, 
 — and while I leaned against the altar-rails waiting for my 
 bride, I caught myself wondering, for the hundredth time or 
 more, at my comrade's singularly proud and kingly aspect, as 
 with folded arms and lifted head he contemplated the lily- 
 decked altar and the gleaming crucifix upon it, his meditative 
 eyes bespeaking a curious mingling of reverence and contempt. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 289 
 
 One incident I remember, as standing out particularly in 
 all the glare and glitter of the brilliant scene, and this occurred 
 at the signing of our names in the register. When Sibyl, a 
 vision of angelic loveliness in all her bridal white, affixed her 
 signature to the entry, Lucio bent towards her. 
 
 "As 'best man' I claim an old-fashioned privilege!" he 
 said, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She blushed a 
 vivid red, then suddenly grew ghastly pale, and with a kind of 
 choking cry, reeled back in a dead faint in the arms of one 
 of her bridesmaids. It was some minutes before she was re- 
 stored to consciousness, but she made light both of my alarm 
 and the consternation of her friends, — and assuring us that 
 it was nothing but the effect of the heat of the weather and 
 the excitement of the day, she took my arm and walked 
 down the aisle smilingly through the brilliant ranks of her 
 staring and envious ' society' friends, all of whom coveted 
 her good fortune, not because she had married a worthy or 
 gifted man, — that would have been no special matter for con- 
 gratulation, — but simply because she had married five millions 
 of money ! I was the appendage to the millions — nothing 
 further. She held her head high and haughtily, though I felt 
 her tremble as the thundering strains of the Bridal March 
 from Lohengrin poured sonorous triumph on the air. She 
 trod on roses all the way, — I remembered that too, . . . 
 afterwards. Her satin slipper crushed the hearts of a thousand 
 innocent things that must surely have been more dear to God 
 than she; — the little harmless souls of flowers, whose task in 
 life, sweetly fulfilled, had been to create beauty and fragrance 
 by their mere existence, expired to gratify the vanity of one 
 woman to whom nothing was sacred ! But I anticipate, — I 
 was yet in my fool's dream, and imagined that the dying blos- 
 soms were happy to perish thus beneath her tread ! 
 
 A grand reception was held at Lord Elton's house after the 
 ceremony, and in the midst of the chattering, the eating and 
 the drinking, we — my newly made wife and I — departed amid 
 the profuse flatteries and good wishes of our 'friends,' who, 
 
 N t 25 
 
290 • THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 primed with the very finest champagne, made a very decent 
 show of being sincere. The last person to say farewell to us 
 at the carriage-door was Lucio, — and the sorrow I felt at 
 parting with him was more than I could express in words. 
 From the very hour of the dawning of my good fortune, we 
 had been almost inseparable companions, — I owed my suc- 
 cess in society, everything, even my bride herself, to his 
 management and tact, — and though I had now won for my 
 life's partner the most beautiful of women, I could not con- 
 template even the temporary breaking of the association 
 between myself and my gifted and brilliant comrade, without 
 a keen pang of personal pain amid my nuptial joys. Leaning 
 his arms on the carriage-window, he looked in upon us both, 
 smiling. 
 
 '' My spirit will be with you both in all your journeyings !" 
 he said. "And when you return, I shall be one of the first 
 to bid you welcome home. Your house-party is fixed for Sep- 
 tember, I believe?" 
 
 " Yes, and you will be the most eagerly desired guest of all 
 invited !" I replied heartily, pressing his hand. 
 
 "Fie, for shame!" he retorted laughingly. "Be not so 
 disloyal of speech, Geoffrey ! Are you not going to entertain 
 the Prince, the most popular of men? — and shall anyone be 
 more ' eagerly desired' than he ? No ; I must play a humble 
 third or even fourth on your list where Royalty is concerned, 
 — my princedom is alas ! not that of Wales, — and the throne 
 I might claim (if I had anyone to help me, which I have not) 
 is a long way removed from that of England !" 
 
 Sibyl said nothing, but her eyes rested on his handsome face 
 and fine figure with an odd wonder and wistfulness, and she 
 was very pale. 
 
 " Good-bye, Lady Sibyl !" he added gently. "All joy be 
 with you ! To us who are left behind, your absence will seem 
 long, — but \.o you, — ah ! — Love gives wings to time, and what 
 would be to ordinary folks a month of mere dull living, will 
 be for you nothing but a moment's rapture ! Love is better 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 291 
 
 than wealth, — you have found that out already I know ! — but 
 I think — and hope — that you are destined to make the knowl- 
 edge more certain and complete ! Think of me sometimes ! 
 Au revoir !" 
 
 The horses started, — a handful of rice, flung by the society 
 idiot who is always at weddings, rattled against the door and 
 on the roof of the brougham, and Lucio stepped back, waving 
 his hand. To the last we saw him, a tall stately figure on the 
 steps of Lord Elton's mansion, surrounded by an ultra-fash- 
 ionable throng, . . . bridesmaids in bright attire and pictuie- 
 hats, — young girls all eager and excited-looking, each of them 
 no doubt longing fervently for the day to come when they 
 might severally manage to secure as rich a husband as myself, 
 . . . match-making mothers and wicked old dowagers, exhib- 
 iting priceless lace on their capacious bosoms, and ablaze with 
 diamonds, . . . men with white button-hole bouquets in their 
 irreproachably fitting frock-coats, — servants in gay liveries, 
 and the usual street-crowd of idle sight-seers,-^all this cluster 
 of faces, costumes and flowers was piled against the grey back- 
 ground of the stone portico, — and in the midst, the dark 
 beauty of Lucio' s face and the luminance of his flashing eyes 
 made him the conspicuous object and chief centre of attrac- 
 tion, . . . then . . . the carriage turned a sharp corner, — 
 the faces vanished, — and Sibyl and I realized that from hence- 
 forward we were left alone, — alone to face the future and our- 
 selves, — and to learn the lesson of love ... or hate . . . for 
 evermore together. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 I CANNOT now trace the slow or swift flitting by of phan- 
 tasmal events, . . . wild ghosts of days or weeks that drifted 
 past, and brought me gradually and finally to a time when I 
 found myself wandering, numb and stricken and sick at heart, 
 by the shores of a lake in Switzerland, — a small lake, densely 
 
292 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 blue, with apparently a thought in its depths such as is reflected 
 in a child's earnest eye. I gazed down at the clear and glisten- 
 ing water almost iinseeingly, — the snow-peaked mountains 
 surrounding it were too high for the lifting of my aching sight, 
 — loftiness, purity, and radiance were unbearable to my mind, 
 crushed as it was beneath a weight of dismal wreckage and 
 ruin. What a fool was I, ever to have believed that in this 
 world there could be such a thing as happiness ! Misery 
 stared me in the face, — life-long misery, — and no escape but 
 death ! Misery ! — it was the word which, like a hellish groan, 
 had been uttered by the three dreadful phantoms that had 
 once, in an evil vision, disturbed my rest. What had I done, 
 I demanded indignantly of myself, to deserve this wretched- 
 ness which no wealth could cure ? — why was fate so unjust ? 
 Like all my kind, I was unable to discern the small yet sirong 
 links of the chain I had myself wrought and which bound me 
 to my own undoing, — I blamed fate, or rather God, — and 
 talked of injustice merely because / personally suffered, never 
 realizing that what I considered unjust was but the equitable 
 measuring forth of that Eternal Law which is carried out with 
 as mathematical an exactitude as the movement of the planets, 
 notwithstanding man's pigmy efforts to impede its fulfilment. 
 The light wind blowing down from the snow peaks above me 
 ruffled the placidity of the little lake by which I aimlessly 
 strolled. I watched the tiny ripples break over its surface like 
 the lines of laughter on a human face, and wondered morosely 
 whether it was deep enough to drown in ! For what was the 
 use of living on, — knowing what I knew ! Knowing that she 
 whom I had loved and whom I loved still in a way that was 
 hateful to myself, was a thing viler and more shameless in 
 character than the veriest poor drab of the street who sells 
 herself for current coin, — that the lovely body and angel-face 
 were but an attractive disguise for the soul of a harpy, — a vul- 
 ture of vice, . . . my God ! — an irrepressible cry escaped me 
 as my thoughts went on and on in the never-ending circle and 
 problem of incurable, unspeakable despair, and I threw myself 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 293 
 
 down on a shelving bank of grass that sloped towards the 
 lake and covered my face in a paroxysm of tearless agony. 
 
 Still inexorable thought worked in my brain and forced me 
 to consider my position. Was she, — was Sibyl — more to 
 blame than I myself for all the strange havoc wrought ? I had 
 married her of my own free will and choice, — and she had 
 told me beforehand — " I am a contaminated creature, trained 
 to perfection in the lax morals and prurient literature of my 
 day." Well, — and so it had proved ! My own blood burned 
 with shame as I reflected how ample and convincing were the 
 proofs ! — and, starting up from my recumbent posture, I paced 
 up and down again restlessly in a fever of self-contempt and 
 disgust. What could I do with a woman such as she to whom 
 I was now bound for life ? Reform her ? She would laugh me 
 to scorn for the attempt. Reform myself? She would sneer 
 at me for an effeminate milksop. Besides, was not I as willing 
 to be degraded as she was to degrade me ? — a very victim to 
 my brute passions ? Tortured and maddened by my feelings 
 I roamed about wildly, and s'arted as if a pistol-shot had been 
 fired near me when the plash of oars sounded on the silence 
 and the keel of a small boat grated on the shore, the boatman 
 within it respectfully begging me in mellifluous French to 
 employ him for an hour, I assented, and in a minute or two 
 Avas out on the lake in the middle of the red glow of sunset 
 which turned the snow-summits to points of flame, and the 
 water to the hue of ruby wine. I think the man who rowed 
 me saw that I was in no very pleasant humour, for he preserved 
 a discreet silence, — and I, pulling my hat partly over my eyes, 
 lay back in the stern, still busy with my wretched musings. 
 Only a month married ! — and yet, — a sickening satiety had 
 taken ihe place of the so-called ''deathless" lover's passion. 
 There were moments even, when my wife's matchless physical 
 beauty appeared hideous to me I knew her as she was, 
 and no exterior charm could ever again cover for me the 
 revolting nature within. And what puzzled me from dawn 
 to dusk was her polished, specious hypocrisy, — her amazing 
 
 25* 
 
294 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 aptitude for lies ! To look at her, — to hear her speak, — one 
 would have deemed her a very saint of purity, — a delicate 
 creature whom a coarse word would startle and offend, — a 
 very incarnation of the sweetest and most gracious woman- 
 hood, all heart and feeling and sympathy. Everyone thought 
 thus of her, — and never was there a greater error. Heart she 
 had none ; that fact was borne in upon me two days after our 
 marriage while we were in Paris, for there a telegram reached 
 us announcing her mother's death. The paralyzed Countess 
 of Elton had, it appeared, expired suddenly on our wedding- 
 day, — or rather our wedding-night, — but the Earl had deemed 
 it best to wait forty-eight hours before interrupting our hyme- 
 neal happiness with the melancholy tidings. He followed his 
 telegram by a brief letter to his daughter in which the con- 
 cluding lines were these: ''As you are a bride and are trav- 
 elling abroad, I should advise you by no means to go into 
 mourning. Under the circumstances it is really not neces- 
 sary." 
 
 And Sibyl had readily accepted his suggestion, keeping 
 generally, however, to white and pale mauve colourings in 
 her numerous and wonderful toilettes, in order not to outrage 
 the proprieties too openly in the opinions of persons known 
 to her, whom she might possibly meet casually in the foreign 
 towns we visited. No word of regret passed her lips, and no 
 tears were shed for her mother's loss. She only said — 
 *' What a good thing her sufferings are over !" 
 Then, with a little sarcastic smile she had added — 
 " I wonder when we shall receive the Elton-Chesney wed- 
 ding cards !" 
 
 I did not reply, for I was pained and grieved at her lack of 
 all gentle feeling in the matter, and I was also, to a certain 
 extent, superstitiously affected by the fact of the death occur- 
 ring on our marriage-day. However, this was now a thing of 
 the past ; a month had elapsed, — a month in which the tearing- 
 down of illusions had gone on daily and hourly, — till I was 
 left to contemplate the uncurtained bare prose of life, and the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 295 
 
 knowledge that I had wedded a beautiful feminine animal with 
 the soul of a shameless libertine. Here I pause and ask my- 
 self, — Was not I also a libertine? Yes, — I freely admit it, — 
 but the libertinage of a man, while it may run to excess in hot 
 youth, generally resolves itself, under the influence of a great 
 love, into a strong desire for undefiled sweetness and modesty 
 in the woman beloved. If a man has indulged in both folly 
 and sin, the time comes at last, when, if he has any good left 
 in him at all, he turns back upon himself and lashes his own 
 vices with the scorpion whip of self-contempt till he smarts 
 with the rage and pain of it, — and then, aching in every pulse 
 with his deserved chastisement, he kneels in spirit at the feet 
 of some pure true-hearted woman whose white soul, like an 
 angel, hovers compassionately above him, and there lays down 
 his life, saying, ''Do what you will with it, — it is yours!" 
 And woe to her who plays lightly with such a gift or works 
 fresh injury upon it ! No man, even if he has in his day 
 indulged in ' rapid' living, should choose a ' rapid' woman 
 for his wife, — he had far better put a loaded pistol to his head 
 and make an end of it. 
 
 The sunset-glory began to fade from the landscape as the 
 little boat glided on over the tranquil water, and a great shadow 
 was on my mind, like the shadow of that outer darkness which 
 would soon be night. Again I asked myself, — Was there no 
 happiness possible in all the world ? Just then the Angelus 
 chimed from a little chapel on the shore, and as it rang, a 
 memory stirred in my brain moving me well-nigh to tears. 
 Mavis Clare was happy ! — Mavis, with her frank fearless eyes, 
 sweet face and bright nature, — Mavis, wearing her crown of 
 Fame as simply as a child might wear a wTeath of may-blossom, 
 — she, with a merely moderate share of fortune which even in its 
 slight proportion was only due to her own hard incessant w^ork, 
 — she was happy. And I — with my millions — was wretched. 
 How w^as it ? — Why was it ? What had I done ? I had lived 
 as my compeers lived, — I had followed the lead of all society, 
 — I had feasted my friends and effectually ' snubbed' my foes, 
 
296 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 — I had comported myself exactly as others of my wealth com- 
 port themselves, — and I had married a woman whom most 
 men, looking upon once, would have been proud to win. 
 Nevertheless there seemed to be a curse upon me. What had 
 I missed out of life? I knew, — but was ashamed to own it, 
 because I had previously scorned what I called the dream- 
 nothings of mere sentiment. And now I had to acknowledge 
 the paramount importance of those ' dream-nothings' out of 
 which all true living must come. I had to realize that my 
 marriage was nothing but the mere mating of the male and 
 female animal, — a coarse bodily union and no more ; — that 
 all the finer and deeper emotions which make a holy thing of 
 human wedlock were lacking, — the mutual respect, the trust- 
 ing sympathy, — the lovely confidence of mind with mind, — 
 the subtle inner spiritual bond which no science can analyze, 
 and which is so much closer and stronger than the material, 
 and knits immortal souls together when bodies decay, — these 
 things had no existence and never would exist between my 
 wife and me. Thus, as far as I was concerned, there was a 
 strange blankness in the world, — I was thrust back upon 
 myself for comfort and found none. What should I do with 
 my life, I wondered drearily ! Win fame, — true fame, — after 
 all? With Sibyl's witch-eyes mocking my efforts? — never! 
 If I had ever had any gifts of creative thought within me she 
 would have killed it. 
 
 The hour was over, — the boatman rowed me into land, and 
 I paid and dismissed him. The sun had completely sunk, — 
 there were dense purple shadows darkening over the moun- 
 tains, and one or two small stars were faintly discernible in 
 the east. I walked slowly back to the villa w^here we were 
 staying, — a ^ dependance' belonging to the large hotel of the 
 district, which we had rented for the sake of privacy and in- 
 dependence, some of the hotel-servants being portioned off to 
 attend upon us, in addition to my own man Morris, and my 
 wife's maid. 1 found Sibyl in the garden, reclining in a basket- 
 chair, her eyes fixed on the after glow of the sunset, and in 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 297 
 
 her hands a book, — one of the loathliest of the prurient novels 
 that have been lately written by women to degrade and shame 
 their sex. With a sudden impulse of rage upon me which I 
 could not resist, I snatched the volume from her and flung it 
 into the lake below. She made no movement of either sur- 
 prise or offence, — she merely turned her eyes away from the 
 glowing heavens and looked at me with a little smile. 
 
 *' How violent you are to-day, Geoffrey !" she said. 
 
 I gazed at her in sombre silence. From the light hat with 
 its pale mauve orchids that rested on her nut-brown hair, to 
 the point of her daintily embroidered shoe, her dress was per- 
 fect, — and she was perfect. / knew that, — a matchless piece 
 of womanhood . . . outwardly. My heart beat, — there was 
 a sense of suffocation in my throat, — I could have killed her 
 for the mingled loathing and longing which her beauty roused 
 in me. 
 
 "I am sorry !" I said hoarsely, avoiding her gaze. *' But I 
 hate to see you with such a book as that." 
 
 ''You know its contents?" she queried, with the same 
 slight smile. 
 
 *' I can guess." 
 
 '' Such things have to be written, they say, now-a-days," she 
 went on. "And, certainly, to judge from the commendation 
 bestowed on these sort of books by the press, it is very evi- 
 dent that the wave of opinion is setting in the direction of 
 letting girls know all about marriage before they enter upon 
 it, in order that they may do so with their eyes wide open, — 
 zwv wide open!" She laughed, and her laughter hurt me 
 like a physical wound. ''What an old-fashioned idea the 
 bride of the poets and sixty-years-ago romancists seems now !" 
 she continued. " Imagine her ! — a shrinking tender creature, 
 shy of beholders, timid of speech, . . . wearing the em- 
 blematic veil, which in former days, you know, used to cover 
 the face entirely as a symbol that the secrets of marriage were 
 as yet hidden from the maiden's innocent and ignorant eyes. 
 Now the veil is worn flung back from the bride's brows, and 
 
298 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 she stares unabashed at everybody, — oh, yes, indeed we know- 
 quite well what we are doing now when we marry, thanks to 
 the * new' fiction !" 
 
 ''The new fiction is detestable," I said hotly, "both in 
 style and morality. Even as a question of literature I won- 
 der at your condescending to read any of it. The woman 
 whose dirty book I have just thrown away — and I feel no 
 compunction for having done it — is destitute of grammar as 
 well as decency." 
 
 " Oh, but the critics don't notice that," she interrupted, 
 with a delicate mockery vibrating in her voice. "It is ap- 
 parently not their business to assist in preserving the purity 
 of the English language. What they fall into raptures over 
 is the originality of the * sexual' theme, though I should have 
 thought all such matters were as old as the hills. I never 
 read reviews as a rule, but I did happen to come across one 
 on the book you have just drowned, — and in it the reviewer 
 stated he had cried over it !" 
 
 She laughed again. 
 
 " Beast !" I said emphatically. " He probably found in it 
 some glozing-over of his own vices. But you, Sibyl — why do 
 you read such stuff? — how can you read it?" 
 
 " Curiosity moved me in the first place," she answered 
 listlessly. "I wanted to see what makes a reviewer cry. 
 Then when I began to read, I found that the story was all 
 about the manner in which men amuse themselves with the 
 soiled doves of the highways and bye-ways, — and as I was 
 not very well instructed in that sort of thing I thought I might 
 as well learn? You know these unpleasant morsels of infor- 
 mation on unsavoury subjects are like the reputed suggestions 
 of the devil, — if you listen to one, you are bound to hear 
 more. Besides, literature is supposed to reflect the time we 
 live in, — and that kind of literature being more prevalent 
 than anything else, we are compelled to accept and study it as 
 the mirror of the age." 
 
 With an expression on her face that was half mirth and half 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 299 
 
 scorn, she rose from her seat, and looked down into the lovely 
 lake below her. 
 
 " The fishes will eat that book," she observed. " I hope it 
 will not poison them ! If they could read and understand it, 
 what singular ideas they would have of us human beings !" 
 
 "Why don't you read Mavis Clare's books?" I asked 
 suddenly. " You told me you admired her." 
 
 *'So I do, — immensely!" she answered. ''I admire her 
 and wonder at her both together. How that woman can keep 
 her child's heart and child's faith in a world like this, is more 
 than I can understand. It is always a perfect marvel to me, — 
 a sort of supernatural surprise. You ask me why don't I read 
 her books, — I do read them, — I've read them all over and 
 over again, — but she does not write many, and one has to 
 wait for her productions longer than for those of most authors. 
 When I want to feel like an angel, I read Mavis Clare, — but I 
 more often am inclined to feel the other way, and then her 
 books are merely so many worries to me." 
 
 *' Worries?" I echoed. 
 
 " Yes. It is worrying to find somebody believing in a God 
 when jw/ can't believe in Him, — to have beautiful faiths 
 offered to you which jw/ can't grasp, — and to know that 
 there is a creature alive, a woman like yourself in everything 
 except mind, who is holding fast a happiness which you 
 can never attain, — no, not though you held out praying 
 hands day and night, and shouted wild appeals to the dull 
 heavens ! ' ' 
 
 At that moment she looked like a queen of tragedy, — her 
 violet eyes ablaze, her lips apart, her breast heaving. I ap- 
 proached her with a strange nervous hesitation and touched 
 her hand. She gave it to me passively. I drew it through 
 my arm, and for a minute or two we paced silently up and 
 down the gravel walk. The lights from the monster hotel 
 which catered for us and our wants were beginning to twinkle 
 from basement to roof, and just above the chalet we rented, a 
 triad of stars sparkled in the shape of a trefoil. 
 
300 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 '' Poor Geoffrey !" she said presently, with a quick upward 
 glance at me, — " I am sorry for you ! With all my vagaries 
 of disposition I am not a fool, and at anyrate I have learned 
 how to analyze myself as well as others. I read you as 
 easily as I read a book, — I see what a strange tumult your 
 mind is in ! You love me — and you loathe me ! — and the 
 contrast of emotion makes a wreck of you and your ideals. 
 Hush, — don't speak; I know, — I know! But what would 
 you have me be ? An angel ? I cannot realize such a being 
 for more than a fleeting moment of imagination. A saint? 
 They were all martyred. A good w^oman ? I never met one. 
 Innocent ? — ignorant ? I told you before we married that I 
 was neither ; there is nothing left for me to discover as far as 
 the relations between men and women are concerned, — I have 
 taken the measure of the inherent love of vice in both sexes. 
 There is not a pin to choose between them — men are no worse 
 than women, — women no worse than men. I have dis- 
 covered everything — except God ! — and I conclude no God 
 could ever have designed such a crazy and mean business as 
 human life." 
 
 While she thus spoke, I could have fallen at her feet and 
 implored her to be silent. For she was, unknowingly, giving 
 utterance to some of the many thoughts in which I myself had 
 frequently indulged, — and yet, from her lips they sounded 
 cruel, unnatural, and callous to a degree that made me shrink 
 from her in fear and agony. We had reached a little grove of 
 pines, — and here in the silence and shadow, I took her in my 
 arms and stared disconsolately upon the beauty of her face. 
 
 "Sibyl!" I whispered, — ''Sibyl, what is wrong wnth us 
 both ? How is it that we do not seem to find the loveliest 
 side of love? — why is it that even in our kisses and em- 
 braces, some impalpable darkness comes between us, so that 
 we anger or weary each other when we should be glad and 
 satisfied? What is it? Can you tell? For you know the 
 darkness is there !" 
 
 A curious look came into her eyes, — a far-away strained 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 301 
 
 look of hungry yearning, mingled, as I thought, with com- 
 passion for me. 
 
 ** Yes, it is there!" she answered slowly. ''And it is of 
 our own mutual creation. I believe you have something 
 nobler in your nature, Geoffrey, than I have in mine, — an 
 indefinable something that recoils from me and my theories 
 despite your wish and will. Perhaps if you had given way to 
 that feeling in time, you would never have married me. You 
 speak of the loveliest side of love, — to me there is no lovely 
 side, — it is all coarse and horrible. You and I for instance, — 
 cultured man and woman, — we cannot, in marriage, get a 
 flight beyond the common emotions of Hodge and his girl !" 
 She laughed violently, and shuddered in my arms. ''What 
 liars the poets are, Geoffrey ! They ought to be sentenced to 
 life-long imprisonment for their perjuries ! They help to 
 mould the credulous beliefs of a woman's heart; — in her early 
 youth she reads their delicious assurances, and imagines that 
 love will be all they teach, — a thing divine and lasting beyond 
 earthly countings ! — then comes the coarse finger of prose on 
 the butterfly-wing of poesy, and the bitterness and hideous- 
 ness of complete disillusion !" 
 
 I held her still in my arms with the fierce grasp of a man 
 clinging to a spar ere he drowns in mid- ocean. 
 
 "But I love you, Sibyl! — my wife, I love you!" I said, 
 with a passion that choked my utterance. 
 
 "You love me, — yes, I know, but how? In a way that is 
 abhorrent to yourself!" she replied. "It is not poetic love, 
 — it is man's love, and man's love is brute love. So it is, — 
 so it will be, — so it must be. Moreover, the brute-love soon 
 tires, — and when it dies out from satiety there is nothing left. 
 Nothing, Geoffrey, absolutely nothing but a blank and civil 
 form of intercourse, which I do not doubt we shall be able to 
 keep up for the admiration and comment of society." 
 
 She disengaged herself from my embrace, and moved to- 
 wards the house. 
 
 " Come !" she added, turning her exquisite head back over 
 
 26! 
 
302 THE SORROWS OF Sx\TAN 
 
 her shoulder with a feline caressing grace that she alone pos- 
 sessed. ** You know there is a famous lady in London who 
 advertises her salable charms to the outside public by means 
 of her monogram worked into the lace of all her window- 
 blinds, thinking it no doubt good for trade ! I am not quite 
 so bad as that ! You have paid dearly for me I know ; but 
 remember I as yet wear no jewels but yours, and crave no 
 gifts beyond those you are generous enough to bestow, — and 
 my dutiful desire is to give you as much full value as I can 
 for your money. ' ' 
 
 *' Sibyl, you kill me !" I cried, tortured beyond endurance. 
 ^* Do you think me so base " 
 
 I broke off with almost a sob of despair. 
 
 '' You cannot help being base," she said, steadily regarding 
 me, — *' because you are a man. I am base because I am a 
 woman. If we believed in a God, either of us, we might 
 discover some different way of life and love, — who knows ? 
 But neither you nor I have any remnant of faith in a Being 
 whose existence all the scientists of the day are ever at work 
 to disprove. We are persistently taught that we are animals 
 and nothing more, — let us therefore not be ashamed of ani- 
 malism. Animalism and atheism are approved by the scien- 
 tists and applauded by the press, — and the clergy are powerless 
 to enforce the faith they preach. Come, Geoffrey, don't stay 
 mooning like a stricken Parsifal under those pines, — throw 
 away that thing which troubles you, your conscience, — throw 
 it away as you have thrown the book I was lately reading, 
 and consider this, — that most men of your type take pride 
 and rejoice in being the prey of a bad woman, so you should 
 really congratulate yourself on having one for a wife, — one 
 who is so broad-minded, too, that she will always let you have 
 your own way in everything you do, provided you let her 
 have hers. It is the way all marriages are arranged now-a- 
 days, — at any rate in oi//- set, — otherwise the tie would be 
 impossible of endurance. Come !" 
 
 ** We cannot live together on such an understanding, Sibyl !" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 303 
 
 I said hoarsely, as I walked slowly by her side towards the 
 villa. 
 
 '' Oh, yes, we can !" she averred, a little malign smile play- 
 ing round her lips. " We can do as others do, — there is no 
 necessity for us to stand out from the rest like quixotic fools, 
 and pose as models to other married people, — we should only 
 be detested for our pains. It is surely better to be popular 
 than virtuous, — virtue never pays. See, there is our interest- 
 ing German waiter coming to inform us that dinner is ready; 
 please don't look so utterly miserable, for we have not quar- 
 relled, and it would be foolish to let the servants think we have." 
 
 I made no answer. We entered the house, and dined, — 
 Sibyl keeping up a perfect lire of conversation, to which I 
 replied in mere monosyllables, — and after dinner we went as 
 usual to sit in the illuminated gardens of the adjacent hotel 
 and hear the band. Sibyl was known and universally admired 
 and flattered by many of the people staying there, — and, as 
 she moved about among her acquaintances, chatting first with 
 one group and then with another, I sat in moody silence 
 watching her with increasing wonderment and horror. Her 
 beauty seemed to me like the beauty of the poison-flower, 
 which, brilliant in colour and perfect in shape, exhales death 
 to those who pluck it from its stem. And that night, when I 
 held her in my arms, and felt her heart beating against my 
 own in the darkness, an awful dread arose in me, — a dread as 
 to whether I might not at some time or other be tempted to 
 strangle her as she lay on my breast, — strangle her as one 
 would strangle a vampire that sucked one's blood and strength 
 away ! 
 
 XXVII 
 
 We concluded our wedding-tour rather sooner than we had 
 at first intended, and returned to England and Willowsmere 
 Court about the middle of August. I had a vague notion 
 
304 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 stirring in me that gave me a sort of dim indefinable conso- 
 lation, and it was this, — I meant to bring my wife and Mavis 
 Clare together, believing that the gentle influence of the 
 gracious and happy creature, who, like a contented bird in 
 its nest, dwelt serene in the little domain so near my own, 
 might have a softening and wholesome effect upon Sibyl's 
 pitiless love of analysis and scorn of all noble ideals. The 
 heat in Warwickshire was at this time intense, — the roses 
 were out in their full beauty, and the thick foliage of the 
 branching oaks and elms in my grounds afforded grateful 
 shade and repose to the tired body, while the tranquil love- 
 liness of the woodland and meadow scenery, comforted and 
 soothed the equally tired mind. After all there is no country 
 in the world so fair as England, — none so richly endowed 
 with verdant forest and fragrant flowers, — none that can 
 boast of sweeter nooks for seclusion and romance. In Italy, 
 that land so over-praised by hysterical poseiws who foolishly 
 deem it admirable to glorify any country save their own, 
 the fields are arid and brown and parched by the too fervent 
 sun, — there are no shady lanes such as England can boast 
 of in all her shires, — and the mania among Italians for ruth- 
 lessly cutting down their finest trees has not only actually 
 injured the climate, but has so spoilt the landscape that it is 
 difficult to believe at all in its once renowned and still erro- 
 neously reported charm. Such a bower of beauty as ' Lily 
 Cottage' was in that sultry August could never have been 
 discovered in all the length and breadth of Italy. Mavis 
 superintended the care of her gardens herself, — she had two 
 gardeners, who under her directions kept the grass and trees 
 continually watered, — and nothing could be imagined more 
 lovely than the picturesque old-fashioned house, covered with 
 roses and tufts of jessamine that seemed to tie up the roof in 
 festal knots and garlands, while around the building spread 
 the reaches of deep emerald lawn and bosky arbours of foliage 
 where all the most musical song-birds apparently found refiige 
 and delight, and where at evening a perfect colony of nightin- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 305 
 
 gales kept up a bubbling fountain of delicious melody. I 
 remember well the afternoon, warm, languid and still, when I 
 took Sibyl to see the woman-author she had so long admired. 
 The heat was so great that in our own grounds all the birds 
 were silent, but when we approached ' Lily Cottage' the first 
 thing we heard was the piping of a thrush up somewhere among 
 the roses, — a mellow liquid warble expressing 'sweet con- 
 tent,' and mingling with the subdued coo-cooings of the dove 
 * reviewers' who were commenting on whatever pleased or 
 displeased them in the distance. 
 
 " What a pretty place it is !" said my wife, as she peeped 
 over the gate and through the odorous tangles of honeysuckle 
 and jessamine. ''I really think it is prettier than Willows- 
 mere. It has been wonderfully improved." 
 
 We were shown in, and Mavis, who had expected our visit, 
 did not keep us waiting long. As she entered, clad in some 
 gossamer white stuff that clung softly about her pretty figure 
 and was belted in by a simple ribbon, an odd sickening pang 
 went through my heart. The fair untroubled face, the joyous 
 yet dreamy student eyes, the sensitive mouth, — and above all, 
 the radiant look of happiness that made the whole expression 
 of her features so bright and fascinating, taught me in one 
 flash of conviction all that a woman might be, and all that she 
 too frequently was not. And I had hated Mavis Clare ! — I 
 had even taken up my pen to deal her a wanton blow through 
 the medium of anonymous criticism, . . . but this was before 
 I knew her, — before I realized that there could be any differ- 
 ence between her and the female scarecrows who so fre- 
 quently pose as ' novelists' without being able to write cor- 
 rect English, and who talk in public of their ' copy' with the 
 glibness gained from Grub Street and the journalists' cheap 
 restaurant. Yes — I had hated her, — and now — now, almost 
 I loved her ! Sibyl, tall, queenly and beautiful, gazed upon 
 her with eyes that expressed astonishment as well as admira- 
 tion. 
 
 '' To think that you are the famous Mavis Clare !" she said, 
 u 26* 
 
3o6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 smiling as she held out her hand. '' I always heard and knew 
 that you did not look at all literary, but I never quite realized 
 that you could be exactly what I see you are !" 
 
 ** To look literary does not always imply that you are 
 literary!" returned Mavis, laughing a little. "Too often I 
 am afraid you will find that the women who take pains to look 
 literary are ignorant of literature ! But how glad I am to see 
 you. Lady Sibyl ! Do you know I used to watch you playing 
 about on the lawns at Willowsmere when I was quite a little 
 girl?" 
 
 '' And I used to watch jw/," responded Sibyl. " You used 
 to make daisy-chains and cowslip-balls in the fields opposite on 
 the other side of the Avon. It is a great pleasure to me to 
 know we are neighbours. You must come and see me often 
 at Willowsmere." 
 
 Mavis did not answer immediately, — she busied herself in 
 pouring out tea and dispensing it to both of us. Sibyl, who 
 was always on the alert for glimpses of character, noticed that 
 she did not answer, and repeated her words coaxingly. 
 
 *' You will come, will you not? As often as you like; the 
 oftener the better. We must be friends, you know ! ' ' 
 
 Mavis looked up then, a frank sweet smile in her eyes. 
 
 *' Do you really mean it ?" she asked. 
 
 " Mean it !" echoed Sibyl. '' Why, of course I do !" 
 
 ** How can you doubt it !" I exclaimed. 
 
 ** Well, you must both forgive me for asking such a question," 
 said Mavis, still smiling. '* But you see you are now among 
 what are called the 'county magnates,' and county magnates 
 consider themselves infinitely above all authors. ' ' She laughed 
 outright, and her blue eyes twinkled with fun. '' I think many 
 of them estimate writers of books as some sort of strange out- 
 growth of humanity that is barely decent. It is deliciously 
 funny and always amuses me ; nevertheless, among my many 
 faults, the biggest one is, I fancy, pride, and a dreadfully 
 obstinate spirit of independence. Now, to tell you the truth, 
 I have been asked by many so-called * great' people to their 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN '307 
 
 houses, and when I have gone, I have generally been sorry for 
 it afterwards." 
 
 *' Why?" I asked. ''They honour themselves by inviting 
 you." 
 
 ** Oh, I don't think they take it in that way at all !" she 
 replied, shaking her fair head demurely. ''They fancy 
 they have performed a great act of condescension, — whereas 
 it is really I who condescend, for it is very good of me, you 
 know, to leave the society of the Pallas Athene in my study 
 for that of a flounced and frizzled lady of fashion." Her 
 bright smile again irradiated her face and she went on — 
 " Once I was asked to luncheon with a certain baron and 
 baroness who invited a few guests ' to meet me,' so they said. 
 I was not introduced to more than one or two of these people, 
 — the rest sat and stared at me as if I were a new kind of 
 fish or fowl. Then the baron showed me his house, and 
 told me the prices of his pictures and his china, — he was even 
 good enough to explain which was Dresden and which was 
 Delft ware, though I believe, benighted author as I am, I 
 could have instructed him equally on these and other matters. 
 However, I managed to smile amicably through the whole 
 programme, and professed myself charmed and delighted in 
 the usual way ; — but they never asked me to visit them again, 
 — and (unless indeed they wanted me to be impressed with 
 their furniture-catalogue), I can never make out what I did 
 to be asked at all, and what I have done never to be asked 
 any more ! ' ' 
 
 "They must have h^^xv parvenus,'' said Sibyl indignantly. 
 "No well-bred people would have priced their goods to you, 
 unless they happened to be Jews." 
 
 Mavis laughed — a merry little laugh like a peal of bells, — 
 then she continued — 
 
 " Well, I will not say who they were, — I must keep some- 
 thing f ir my ' literary reminiscences' when I get old ! Then 
 all these people will be named, and go down to posterity as 
 Dante's enemies went down to Dante's hell ! I have only 
 
3o8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 told you the incident just to show you why I asked you if 
 you meant it, when you invited me to visit you at Willows- 
 mere. Because the baron and baroness I have spoken of 
 ' gushed' over me and my poor books to such an extent that 
 you would have fancied I was to be for evermore one of their 
 dearest friends, — and they didn't mean it. Other people I 
 know embrace me effusively and invite me to their houses, and 
 they don't mean it. And when I find out these shams, I like 
 to make it very clear on my own side that I do not seek to be 
 embraced or invited, and that if certain great folks deem it a 
 ' favour' to ask me to their houses, I do not so consider it, 
 but rather think the ' favour' is entirely on my part if I accept 
 the invitation. And I do not say this for my own self at 
 all, — self has nothing to do with it, — but I do say it and 
 strongly assert it for the sake of the dignity of Literature as 
 an art and profession. If a few other authors would maintain 
 this position, we might raise the standard of letters by de- 
 grees to what it was in the old days of Scott and Byron. I 
 hope you do not think me too proud ?' ' 
 
 *' On the contrary, I think you are quite right," said Sibyl 
 earnestly. ''And I admire you for your courage and inde- 
 pendence. Some of the aristocracy are, I know, such utter 
 snobs that often I feel ashamed to belong to them. But as 
 far as we are concerned, I can only assure you that if you 
 will honour us by becoming our friend as well as neighbour, 
 you shall not regret it. Do try and like me if you can !" 
 
 She bent forward with a witching smile on her fair face. 
 Mavis looked at her seriously and admiringly. 
 
 " How beautiful you are !" she said frankly. '' Everybody 
 tells you this of course, — still, I cannot help joining in the 
 general chorus. To me, a lovely face is like a lovely flower, 
 — I must admire it. Beauty is quite a divine thing, and 
 though I am often told that the plain people are always the 
 good people, I never can quite believe it. Nature is surely 
 bound to give a beautiful face to a beautiful spirit." 
 
 Sibyl, who had smiled with pleasure at the first words of the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 309 
 
 open compliment paid her by one of the most gifted of her 
 own sex, now flushed deeply. 
 
 " Not always, Miss Clare," she said, veiling her brilliant 
 eyes beneath the droop of her long lashes. One can imagine 
 a fair fiend as easily as a fair angel." 
 
 ''True!" and Mavis looked at her musingly; then sud- 
 denly laughing in her blithe bright way, she added, "Quite 
 true ! Really I cannot picture an ugly fiend, — for the fiends 
 are supposed to be immortal, and I am convinced that im- 
 mortal ugliness has no part in the universe. Downright 
 hideousness belongs to humanity alone, — and an ugly face is 
 such a blot on creation that we can only console ourselves by 
 the reflection that it is fortunately perishable, and that in 
 course of time the soul behind it will be released from its 
 ill-formed husk, and will be allowed to wear a fairer aspect. 
 Yes, Lady Sibyl, I will come to Willowsmere ; I cannot re- 
 fuse to look upon such loveliness as yours as often as I may !" 
 
 "You are a charming flatterer!" said Sibyl, rising and 
 putting an arm round her in that affectionate coaxing way 
 of hers which seemed so sincere and which so frequently 
 meant nothing. " But I confess I prefer to be flattered by a 
 woman rather than by a man. Men say the same things to 
 all women, — they have a very limited repertoire of compli- 
 ments, — and they will tell a fright she is beautiful if it hap- 
 pens to serve their immediate purpose. But women them- 
 selves can so hardly be persuaded to admit that any good 
 qualities exist either inward or outward in one another, that 
 when they do say a kind or generous thing of their own sex it 
 is a wonder worth remembering. May I see your study?" 
 
 Mavis willingly assented, and we all three went into the 
 peaceful sanctum where the marble Pallas presided, and where 
 the dogs Tricksy and Emperor were both ensconced, — Em- 
 peror sitting up on his haunches and surveying the prospect 
 from the window, and Tricksy with a most absurd air of 
 importance, imitating the larger animal's attitude precisely, 
 at a little distance off. Both creatures were friendly to my 
 
3ia THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 wife and to me, and while Sibyl was stroking the St Bernard's 
 massive head, Mavis said suddenly — 
 
 " Where is the friend who came with you here first, Prince 
 Rimanez?" 
 
 "■ He is in St Petersburg just now," I answered. ''But he 
 will be here in two or three weeks to stay with us on a visit 
 for some time." 
 
 "He is surely a very singular man," said Mavis thought- 
 fully. **Do you remember how strangely my dogs behaved 
 to him? Emperor was quite restless and troublesome for two 
 or three hours after he had gone." 
 
 And in a few words, she told Sibyl the incident of the St 
 Bernard's attack upon Lucio. 
 
 "Some people have a natural antipathy to dogs," said 
 Sibyl, as she heard. "And the dogs always find it out and 
 resent it. But I should not have thought Prince Rimanez 
 had an antipathy to any creatures except — women !" 
 
 And she laughed, a trifle bitterly. 
 
 " Except women !" echoed Mavis surprisedly. "Does he 
 hate women ? He must be a very good actor then, for to me 
 he was wonderfully kind and gentle." 
 
 Sibyl looked at her intently, and was silent for a minute. 
 Then she said — 
 
 "Perhaps it is because he knows you are unlike the ordi- 
 nary run of women and have nothing in common with their 
 usual trumpery aims. Of course he is always courteous to our 
 sex, — but I think it is easy to see that his courtesy is often 
 worn as a mere mask to cover a very different feeling." 
 
 "You have perceived that, then, Sibyl?" I said with a 
 slight smile. 
 
 " I should be blind if I had not perceived it," she replied. 
 "I do not, however, blame him for his pet aversion, — I think 
 it makes him all the more attractive and interesting." 
 
 "He is a great friend of yours?" inquired Mavis, looking 
 at me as she put the question. 
 
 "The very greatest friend I have," I replied quickly. "I 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 3TI 
 
 owe him more than I can ever repay, — indeed I have to thank 
 him even for introducing me to my wife." 
 
 I said the words unthinkingly and playfully, but as I uttered 
 them, a sudden shock affected my nerves, — a shock of painful 
 memory. Yes, it was true ! — I owed to him, to Lucio, the 
 misery, fear, degradation and shame of having such a woman 
 as Sibyl was, united to me till death should us part, I felt 
 myself turning sick and giddy, and I sat down in one of the 
 quaint oak chairs that helped to furnish Mavis Clare's study, 
 allowing the two women to pass out of the open French 
 window into the sunlit garden together, the dogs following at 
 their heels. I watched them as they went, — my wife, tall and 
 stately, attired in the newest and most fashionable mode ; 
 Mavis, small and slight, with her soft white gown and float- 
 ing waist-ribbon, — the one sensual, the other spiritual, — the 
 one base and vicious in desire, the other pure-souled and 
 aspiring to noblest ends, — the one a physically magnificent 
 animal, the other merely sweet-faced and ideally fair like a 
 sylph of the woodlands, — and looking, 1 clenched my hands as 
 I thought with bitterness of spirit what a mistaken choice I 
 had made. In the profound egotism which had always been 
 part of my nature I now actually allowed myself to believe 
 that I might, had I chosen, have wedded Mavis Clare, — never 
 for one moment imagining that all my wealth would have 
 been useless to me in such a quest, and that I might as well 
 have proposed to pluck a star from the sky as to win a woman 
 who was able to read my nature thoroughly, and who would 
 never have come down to my money -level from her intellectual 
 throne, — no, not though I had been a monarch of many 
 nations. I stared at the large tranquil features of the Pallas 
 Athene, and the blank eyeballs of the marble goddess 
 appeared to regard me in turn with impassive scorn. I 
 glanced round the room, and at the walls adorned with the 
 wise sayings of poets and philosophers, — sayings that re- 
 minded me of truths which I knew, yet never accepted as 
 practicable ; and presently my eyes were attracted to a corner 
 
312 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 near the writing-desk, which I had not noticed before, where 
 there was a small dim lamp burning. Above this lamp an 
 ivory crucifix gleamed white against draperies of dark purple 
 velvet, — below it, on a silver bracket, was an hour-glass through 
 which the sand was running in glistening grains, and round the 
 entire little shrine was written in letters of gold, " Now is the 
 acceptable time !" — the word * Now' being in larger characters 
 than the rest. ' Now' was evidently Mavis's motto, — to lose 
 no time, but to work, to pray, to love, to hope, to thank God 
 and be glad for life, all in the ' Now' — and neither to regret 
 the past nor forebode the future, but simply do the best that 
 could be done, and leave all else in child-like confidence to 
 the Divine Will. I got up restlessly, — the sight of the crucifix 
 curiously annoyed me ; — and I followed the path my wife .and 
 Mavis had taken through the garden. I found them looking 
 in at the cage of the ' Athenaeum' owls, — the owl-in-chief 
 being as usual pufi'ed out with his own importance and swell- 
 ing visibly with indignation and excess of feather. Sibyl 
 turned as she saw me, — her face was bright and smiling. 
 
 '^ Miss Clare has very strong opinions of her own, Geoffrey," 
 she said. " She is not as much captivated by Prince Rimanez 
 as most people are, — in fact, she has just confided to me 
 that she does not quite like him." 
 
 Mavis blushed, but her eyes met mine with fearless candour. 
 
 ''It is wrong to say what one thinks, I know," she mur- 
 mured in somewhat troubled accents. "And it is a dreadful 
 fault of mine. Please forgive me, Mr Tempest ! You tell 
 me the prince is your greatest friend, — and I assure you I 
 was immensely impressed by his appearance when I first saw 
 him, . , . but afterwards, . . . after I had studied him a 
 little, the conviction was borne in upon me that he was not 
 altogether what he seemed." 
 
 "That is exactly what he says of himself," I answered, 
 laughing a little. " He has a mystery I believe, — and he has 
 promised to clear it up for me some day. But I'm sorry you 
 don't like him, Miss Clare, — for he likes you." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 313 
 
 " Perhaps when I meet him again my ideas may be differ- 
 ent," said Mavis gently. ''At present, . . . well — do not 
 let us talk of it any more, — indeed I feel I have been very 
 rude to express any opinion at all concerning one for whom 
 you and Lady Sibyl have so great a regard. But somehow I 
 seemed nnpelled, almost against my will, to say what I did just 
 now." 
 
 Her soft eyes looked pained and puzzled, and to relieve her, 
 and change the subject, I asked if she was writing anything 
 new. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied. " It would never do for me to be 
 idle. The public are very kind to me, — and no sooner have 
 they read one thing of mine than they clamour for another, 
 so I am kept very busy." 
 
 " And what of the critics ?" I asked, with a good deal of 
 curiosity. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 '*I neve-r pay the least attention to them," she answered, 
 " except when they are hasty and misguided enough to write lies 
 about me, — then I very naturally take the liberty to contradict 
 those lies, either through my own statement or that of my 
 lawyers. Apart from refusing to allow the public to be led 
 into a false notion of my work and aims, I have no grudge 
 whatever against the critics. They are generally very poor, 
 hard working men, and have a frightful struggle to live. I 
 have often, privately, done some of them a good turn without 
 their knowledge. A publisher of mine sent me an MS. the 
 other day by one of my deadliest enemies on the press, and 
 stated that my opinion would decide its rejection or accept- 
 ance. I read it through, and though it was not very brilliant 
 work it was good enough, so I praised it as warmly as I could, 
 and urged its publication, with the stipulation that the author 
 should never be told I had had the casting vote. It has 
 just come out, I see, — and I'm sure I hope it will succeed." 
 Here she paused to gather a few deep damask roses, which she 
 handed to Sibyl. ''Yes, critics are very badly, even cruelly 
 o 27 
 
314 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 paid," she went on musingly. *' It is not to be expected that 
 they should write eulogies of the successful author, while they 
 continue unsuccessful, — such work could not be anything but 
 gall and wormwood to them. I know the i)oor little wife of 
 one of them, — and settled her dressmaker's bill for her because 
 she was afraid to show it to her husband. The very week 
 afterwards he slashed away at my last book in the most 
 approved style in the paper on which he is employed and got, 
 I suppose, about a guinea for his trouble. Of course he didn't 
 know about his little wife and her dunning dressmaker ; and 
 he never will know, because I have bound her over to secrecy." 
 
 ^* But why do you do such things ?" asked Sibyl astonished. 
 " I would have let his wife get into the County Court for her 
 bill, if I had been you !" 
 
 '' Would you ?" and Mavis smiled gravely. *' Well, I could 
 not. You know Who it was that said ' Bless them that curse 
 you, and do good to them that hate you.' Besides, the poor 
 little woman was frightened to death at her own expenditure. 
 It is pitiful, you know, to see the helpless agon-es of people 
 who will live beyond their incomes, — they suffer much more 
 than the beggars in the street who make frequently more than 
 a pound a day by mere whining and snivelling. The critics 
 are much more in evil case than the beggars — i^w of them 
 make even a pound a day, and of course they regard as their 
 natural enemies the authors who make thirty to fifty pounds a 
 week. I assure you I am very sorry for critics all round, — 
 they are the least-regarded and worst-rewarded of all the lit- 
 erary community. And I never bother myself at all about 
 what they say of me, except as I before observed, when in 
 their haste they tell lies, — then of course it becomes necessary 
 for me to state the truth in simple self-defence as well as by 
 way of duty to my public. But as a rule I hand over all my 
 press-notices to Tricksy there," — indicating the minute York- 
 shire terrier who followed closely at the edge of her white 
 gown, — ''and he tears them to indistinguishable shreds in 
 about three minutes ! ' ' 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 315 
 
 She laughed merrily, and Sibyl smiled, watching her with 
 the same wonder and admiration that had been expressed in 
 her looks more or less since the beginning of our interview 
 with this light-hearted possessor of literary fame. We were 
 now walking towards the gate preparatory to taking our 
 departure. 
 
 ''May I come and talk to you sometimes?" my wife said 
 suddenly, in her prettiest and most pleading voice. " It 
 would be such a privilege!" 
 
 "You can come whenever you like in the afternoons," 
 replied Mavis readily. ''The mornings belong to a goddess 
 more dominant even than Beauty, — Work !" 
 
 "You never work at night?" I asked. 
 
 "Indeed no! I never turn the ordinances of Nature up- 
 side down, as I am sure I should get the worst of it if I made 
 such an attempt. The night is for sleep, and I use it thank- 
 fully for that blessed purpose." 
 
 " Some authors can only write at night though," I said. 
 
 " Then you may be sure they only produce blurred pictures 
 and indistinct characterization," said Mavis. " Some I know 
 there are, who invite inspiration through gin, or opium, as 
 well as through the midnight influences, but I do not be- 
 lieve in such methods. Morning and a freshly rested brain 
 are required for literary labour, — that is, if one wants to 
 write a book that will last for more than one ' season.' " 
 
 She accompanied us to the gate, and stood under the porch, 
 her big dog beside her and the roses waving high over her 
 head. 
 
 "At anyrate, work agrees with you," said Sibyl, fixing 
 upon her a long, intent, almost envious gaze. "You look 
 perfectly happy. ' ' 
 
 "I a7?i perfectly happy," she answered, smiling. "I have 
 nothing in all the world to wish for, except that I may die as 
 peacefully as I have lived." 
 
 " May that day be far distant !" I said earnestly. 
 
 She raised her soft meditative eyes to mine. 
 
3i6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ''Thank you!" she responded gently. ''But I do not 
 mind when it comes, so long as it finds me ready." 
 
 She waved her hand to us as we left her and turned the 
 corner of the lane, — and for some minutes w^e walked on 
 slowly in absolute silence. Then at last Sibyl spoke — 
 
 '*! quite understand the hatred there is in some quarters 
 for Mavis Clare," she said. ''I am afraid I begin to hate 
 her myself !" 
 
 I stopped and stared at her, astonished and confounded. 
 
 *'You begin to hate her — you? — and why?" 
 
 ** Are you so blind that you cannot perceive why?" she re- 
 torted, the little malign smile I knew so well playing round 
 her lips. '' Because she is happy ! Because she has no scan- 
 dals in her life, and because she dares to be content ! One 
 longs to make her miserable ! But how to do it ? She be- 
 lieves in a God, — she thinks all He ordains is right and 
 good. With such a firm faith as that, she would be happy 
 in a garret earning but a few pence a day. I see now per- 
 fectly how she has won her public, — it is by the absolute 
 conviction she has herself of the theories of life she tries to 
 instil. What can be done against her ? Nothing ! But I 
 understand why the critics would like to ' quash' her, — if I 
 were a critic, fond of whisky-and-soda and music-hall w^omen, 
 I should like to quash her myself for being so different to the 
 rest of her sex." 
 
 ''What an incomprehensible woman you are, Sibyl!" I 
 exclaimed with real irritation. " You admire Miss Clare's 
 books, — you have always admired them, — you have asked her 
 to become your friend, — and almost in the same breath you 
 aver you would like to ' quash' her or to make her miserable. 
 I confess I cannot understand you !" 
 
 " Of course you cannot!" she responded tranquilly, her 
 eyes resting upon me with a curious expression, as we paused 
 for an instant under the deep shade of a chestnut tree before 
 entering our own grounds. " I never supposed you could, 
 and, unlike the ordinary femme incomprise^ I have never 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 317 
 
 blamed you for your want of comprehension. It has taken 
 me some time to understand myself, and even now I am not 
 quite sure that I have gauged the depths or shallownesses of my 
 own nature correctly. But on this matter of Mavis Clare, can 
 you not imagine that badness may hate goodness ? That the 
 confirmed drunkard may hate the sober citizen ? That the 
 outcast may hate the innocent maiden ? And that it is pos- 
 sible that I, — reading life as I do, and finding it loathsome in 
 many of its aspects, — distrusting men and women utterly, — 
 and being destitute of any faith in God, — may hate, — yes 
 hate" — and she clenched her hand on a tuft of drooping leaves 
 and scattered the green fragments at her feet — "a woman who 
 finds life beautiful, and God existent, — who takes no part in 
 our social shams and slanders, and who in place of my self- 
 torturing spirit of analysis, has secured an enviable fame and 
 the honour of thousands, allied to a serene content ? Why, 
 it would be something worth living for to make such a woman 
 wretched for once in her life ! — but as she is constituted it is 
 impossible to do it." 
 
 She turned from me and walked slowly onward, — I follow- 
 ing in a pained silence. 
 
 '' If you do not mean to be her friend, you should tell her 
 so," I said presently. ''You heard what she said about pre- 
 tended protestations of regard?" 
 
 ' ' I heard, ' ' she replied morosely. '' She is a clever woman, 
 Geoffrey, and you may trust her to find me out without any 
 explanation !" 
 
 As she said this, I raised my eyes and looked full at her, — 
 her exceeding beauty was becoming almost an agony to my 
 sight, and in a sudden fool's paroxysm of despair I ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 *' Oh, Sibyl, Sibyl ! Why were you made as you are?" 
 
 "Ah, why indeed?" she rejoined, with a faint mocking 
 smile. " And why, being made as I am, was I born an Earl's 
 daughter? If I had been an Arab of the street, I should 
 have been in my proper place, — and novels would have been 
 
 27* 
 
3i8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 written about me, and plays, — and I might have become such 
 a heroine as should cause all good men to weep for joy be- 
 cause of my generosity in encouraging their vices ! But as 
 an Earl's daughter, respectably married to a millionaire, I am 
 a mistake of nature. Yet nature does make mistakes some- 
 times, Geoffrey, and when she does they are generally irreme- 
 diable." 
 
 We had now reached our own grounds, and I walked, in 
 miserable mood, beside her across the lawn towards the house. 
 
 " Sibyl," I said at last, " I had hoped you and Mavis Clare 
 might be friends. ..." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 ** So we shall be friends, I daresay, — for a little while," she 
 replied. " But the dove does not willingly consort with the 
 raven, and Mavis Clare's way of life and studious habits 
 would be to me insufferably dull. Besides, as I said before, 
 she, as a clever woman and a thinker, is too clear-sighted not 
 to find me out in the course of time. But I will play hum- 
 bug as long as I can. If I perform the part of ' county lady' 
 or 'patron,' of course she won't stand me for a moment. I 
 shall have to assume a much more difficult role, — that of an 
 honest w^oman." 
 
 Again she laughed, — a cruel little laugh that chilled my 
 blood, and paced slowly into the house through the open 
 windows of the drawing-room. And I, left alone in the gar- 
 den among the nodding roses and waving trees, felt that the 
 beautiful domain of Willowsmere had suddenly grown hideous 
 and bereft of all its former charm, and was nothing but a 
 haunted house of desolation, — haunted by an all-dominant 
 and ever victorious Spirit of Evil. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 319 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 One of the strangest things in all the strange course of our 
 human life is perhaps the suddenness of certain unlooked-for 
 events, which, in a day or even an hour, may work utter devas- 
 tation where there has been more or less peace, and hopeless 
 ruin where there has been comparative safety. Like the shock 
 of an earthquake, the clamorous incidents thunder in on the 
 regular routine of ordinary life, crumbling down our hopes, 
 breaking our hearts, and scattering our pleasures into the dust 
 and ashes of despair. And this kind of destructive trouble 
 generally happens in the midst of apparent prosperity without 
 the least warning, and with all the abrupt fierceness of a desert- 
 storm. It is constantly made manifest to us in the unexpected 
 and almost instantaneous downfall of certain members of 
 society who have held their heads proudly above their com- 
 peers and have presumed to pose as examples of light and 
 leading to the whole community ; we see it in the capricious 
 fortunes of kings and statesmen who are in favour one day 
 and disgraced the next, and vast changes are wrought with 
 such inexplicable quickness that it is scarcely wonderful to 
 hear of certain religious sects who, when everything is pros- 
 pering more than usually well with them, make haste to put 
 on garments of sackcloth and cast ashes on their heads, praying 
 aloud, *' Prepare us, O Lord, for the evil days which are at 
 hand!" The moderation of the Stoics, who considered it 
 impious to either rejoice or grieve, and strove to maintain an 
 equable middle course between the opposing elements of sorrow 
 and joy, without allowing themselves to be led away by over- 
 much delight or over-much melancholy, was surely a wise habit 
 of temperament. I, who lived miserably as far as my inner 
 and better consciousness was concerned, was yet outwardly 
 satisfied with the material things of life and the luxuries sur- 
 rounding me, — and I began to take comfort in these things, 
 
320 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 and with them endeavoured to quell and ignore my subtle 
 griefs, succeeding so far in that I became more and more of a 
 thorough materialist every day, loving bodily ease, appetizing 
 food, costly wine and personal indulgence to a degree that 
 robbed me gradually of even the desire for mental effort. I 
 taught myself, moreover, almost insensibly to accept and 
 tolerate what I knew of the wanton side of my wife's character, 
 — true, I respected her less than the Turk respects the creature 
 of his harem, — but like the Turk I took a certain savage satis- 
 faction in being the possessor of her beauty ; and with this 
 feeling and the brute passion it engendered, I was fain to be 
 content. So that for a short time at least, the drowsy satis- 
 faction of a well-fed, well-mated animal was mine, — I fancied 
 that nothing short of a stupendous financial catastrophe to the 
 country itself could exhaust my stock of cash, — and that 
 therefore there was no necessity for me to exert myself in any 
 particular branch of usefulness, but simply to * eat, drink and 
 be merry' as Solomon advised. Intellectual activity was para- 
 lyzed in me, — to take up my pen and write, and make another 
 and higher bid for fame, was an idea that now never entered 
 my mind ; I spent my days in ordering about my servants and 
 practising the petty pleasures of tyranny on gardeners and 
 grooms, and in generally giving myself airs of importance 
 mingled with an assumption of toleration and benevolence 
 for the benefit of all those in my employ. I knew the proper 
 thing to do, well enough ! — I had not studied the ways of 
 the over-wealthy for nothing. I was aware that the rich man 
 never feels so thoroughly virtuous as when he has inquired 
 after the health of his coachman's wife and has sent her a 
 couple of pounds for the outfit of her new-born baby. The 
 much-prated-of ' kindness of heart' and ' generosity' possessed 
 by millionaires generally amounts to this kind of thing, — and 
 when, if idly strolling about my park-lands, I happened to 
 meet the small child of my lodge-keeper and then and 
 there bestowed sixpence upon it, I almost felt as if I de- 
 served a throne in Heaven at the right hand of the Almighty, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 321 
 
 so great was my appreciation of my own good-nature. 
 Sibyl, however, never affected this sort of county-magnate 
 beneficence. She did nothing at all among our poor 
 neighbours ; — the clergyman of the district unfortunately 
 happened to let slip one day a few words to the effect that 
 ''there was no great want of anything among his parish- 
 ioners, owing to the continual kindness and attention of Miss 
 Clare," — and Sibyl never from that moment proffered any 
 assistance. Now and then she took her graceful person into 
 ' Lily Cottage' and sat with its happy and studious occupant 
 for an hour, — and occasionally the fair author herself came 
 and dined with us, or had ' afternoon tea' under the branching 
 elms on the lawn, — but even I, intense egotist as I was, could 
 see that Mavis was scarcely herself on these occasions. She 
 was always charming and bright of course, — indeed the only 
 times in which I was able to partially forget myself and the 
 absurdly increasing importance of my personality in my own 
 esteem, were when she, with her sweet voice and animated 
 manner, brought her wide knowledge of books, men, and 
 things to bear on the conversation, thus raising it to a higher 
 level than was ever reached by my wife or me. Yet I now 
 and then noticed a certain vague constraint about her, — and 
 her frank eyes had frequently a pained and questioning look 
 of trouble when they rested for any length of time on the 
 enchanting beauty of Sibyl's face and form. I, however, paid 
 little heed to these trifling matters, my whole care being to 
 lose myself more and more utterly in the enjoyment of purely 
 physical ease and comfort without troubling myself as to what 
 such self-absorption might lead in the future. To be com- 
 pletely without a conscience, without a heart and without 
 sentiment was, I perceived, the best way to keep one's appetite 
 and preserve one's health; — to go about worrying over the 
 troubles of other people or put one's self out to do any good 
 in the world, would involve such an expenditure of time and 
 trouble as must inevitably spoil one's digestion, — and I saw 
 that no millionaire or even moderately rich man cares to run 
 
322 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the risk of injuring his digestion for the sake of performing 
 a kindness to a poorer fellow-creature. Profiting by the 
 examples presented to me everywhere in society, I took care 
 of my digestion, and was particular about the way in which 
 my meals were cooked and served, — particular too, as to the 
 fashion in which my wife dressed for those meals, — for it 
 suited my supreme humour to sse her beauty bedecked as 
 suitably and richly as possible that I might have the satis- 
 faction of considering her ' points' with the same epicurean 
 fastidiousness as I considered a dish of truffles or specially 
 prepared game. I never thought of the stern and absolute 
 law — ''Unto whom much is given, even from him should 
 much be required ;" — I was scarcely aware of it in fact, — the 
 New Testament was of all books in the world the most un- 
 familiar to me. And while I wilfully deafened myself to the 
 voice of conscience, — that voice which ever and anon urged 
 me in vain to a nobler existence, — the clouds were gathering, 
 ready to burst above me with that terrific suddenness such as 
 always seems to us who refuse to study the causes of our 
 calamities, as astonishing and startling as death itself. For 
 we are always more or less startled at death, notwithstanding 
 that it is the commonest occurrence known. 
 
 Towards the middle of September my ' royal and distin- 
 guished' house-party arrived and stayed at Willowsmere Court 
 for a week. Of course it is understood that whenever the 
 Prince of Wales honours any private residence with a visit, 
 he selects, if not all, at any rate the greater part of those 
 persons who are to be invited to meet him. He did so in 
 the present instance, and I was placed in the odd position 
 of having to entertain certain people whom I had never met 
 before, and who, with the questionable taste frequently ex- 
 hibited among the 'upper ten,' looked upon me merely as 
 "the man with the millions," the caterer for their provisions 
 and no more, — directing their chief attention to Sibyl, who 
 was by virtue of her birth and associations one of their 'set,' 
 and pushing me, their host, more or less into the background. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 323 
 
 However, the glory of entertaining Royalty more than sufficed 
 for my poor pride at that time, and with less self-respect than 
 an honest cur I was content to be snubbed and harassed and 
 worried a hundred times a day by one or the other of the 
 ' great' personages who wandered at will all over my house 
 and grounds, and accepted my lavish hospitality. Many 
 people imagine that it must be an ' honour' to entertain a 
 select party of aristocrats, but I, on the contrary, consider 
 that it is not only a degradation to one's manlier and more 
 independent instincts, but also a bore. These highly-bred, 
 highly-connected individuals, are for the most part unintelli- 
 gent and devoid of resources in their own minds, — they are 
 not gifted as conversationalists or wits, — one gains no intel- 
 lectual advantage from their society, — they are simply dull 
 folk with an exaggerated sense of their own importance, who 
 expect, wherever they go, to be amused without trouble to 
 themselves. Out of all the visitors at Willowsmere the only 
 one whom it was really a pleasure to entertain was the Prince 
 of Wales himself, — and amid the many personal irritations I 
 had to suffer from others, I found it a positive relief to render 
 him any attention, however slight, because his manner was 
 always marked by that tact and courtesy which are the best 
 attributes of a true gentleman whether he be prince or peasant. 
 In his own genial way, he went one afternoon to see Mavis 
 Clare, and came back in high good-humour, talking for some 
 time of nothing but the author of ^Differences,' and of the 
 success she had achieved in literature. I had asked Mavis to 
 join our party before the Prince came, as I felt pretty sure he 
 would not have erased her name from the list of guests sub- 
 mitted to him, — but she would not accept, and begged me 
 very earnestly not to press the point. 
 
 '* I like the Prince," she had said. " Everybody likes him 
 who knows him, — but I do not always like the people who 
 surround him, — pardon me for my frankness ! The Prince 
 of Wales is a social magnet, — he draws after him all who by 
 dint of wealth if not intelligence can contrive to ' push' into 
 
324 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 his set. Now I am not an advocate of ' push' — moreover I 
 do not care to be seen with 'everybody' ; — this is my sinful 
 pride you will say, or as our American cousins would put it, 
 my ' cussedness. ' But I assure you, Mr Tempest, the best 
 possession I have and one which I value a great deal more 
 even than my literary success, is my absolute independence, 
 and I would not have it thought, even erroneously, that I ain 
 anxious to mix wiih the crowd of sycophants and time-servers 
 who are only too ready to take advantage of the Prince's good- 
 nature." 
 
 And, acting upon her determination, she had remained 
 more than ever secluded in her cottage-nest of foliage and 
 flowers during the progress of the week's festivities, — the 
 result being, as I have stated, that the Prince * dropped in' 
 upon her quite casually one day, accompanied by his equerry, 
 and probably, for all I knew, had the pleasure of seeing the 
 dove ' reviewers' being fed, and squabbling over their meal. 
 
 Much as we had desiied the presence of Rimanez at our 
 gathering he did not appear. He telegraphed his regrets 
 from Paris, and followed the telegram by a characteristic 
 letter which ran thus : 
 
 My dear Tempest, 
 
 You are very kind to wish to include me, your old 
 friend, in the party you have invited to meet His Royal High- 
 ness, and I only hope you will not think me churlish for 
 refusing to come. I am sick to death of Royalties, — I have 
 known so many of them in the course of my existence that I 
 begin to find their society monotonous. Their positions are 
 all so e^xactly alike too, — and moreover have always been alike 
 from the days of Solomon in all his glory, down to the present 
 blessed era of Victoria, Queen and Empress. One thirsts for 
 a change ; at least I do. The only monarch that ever fasci- 
 nated my imagination particularly was Richard Coeur deLion ; 
 there was something original and striking about that man, and 
 I presume he would have been well worth talking to. And 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 325 
 
 Charlemagne was doubtless, as the slangey young man of the 
 day would observe, * not half bad.' But for the rest, — luifico ! 
 Much talk is there made about Her Majesty Elizabeth, who 
 was a shrew and a vixen and blood-thirsty withal, — the chief 
 glory of her reign was Shakespeare, and he made kings and 
 queens the dancing puppets of his thought. In this, though 
 in nothing else, I resemble him. You will have enough to do 
 in the entertainment of your distinguished guests, for I suppo e 
 there is no amusement they have not tried and found more or 
 less unsatisfactory, and I am sorry I can suggest nothing par- 
 ticularly new for you to do. Her Grace the Duchess of 
 Rapidryder is very fond of being tossed in a strong table-cloth 
 between four able-bodied gentlemen of good birth and dis- 
 cretion, before going to bed o' nights, — she cannot very well 
 appear on a music-hall stage you know, owing to her exalted 
 rank, — and this is a child-like, pretty and harmless method 
 of managing to show her legs, which she rightly considers, are 
 too shapely to be hidden. Lady Bouncer, whose name I see 
 in your list, always likes to cheat at cards, — I would aid and 
 abet her in her aim if I were you, as if she can only clear her 
 dressmaker's bill by her winnings at Willowsmere, she will 
 bear it in mind and be a useful social friend to you. The 
 Honourable Miss Fitz-Gander, who has a great reputation for 
 virtue, is anxious, for pressing and particular reasons, to marry 
 Lord Noodles, — if you can move on matters between them 
 into a definite engagement of marriage before her lady-mother 
 returns from her duty-visits in Scotland, you will be doing her 
 a good turn and saving society a scandal. To amuse the men 
 I suggest plenty of shooting, gambling and unlimited smoking. 
 To entertain the Prince, do little, — for he is clever enough 
 to entertain himself privately with the folly and humbug of 
 those he sees around him, without actually sharing in the 
 petty comedy. He is a keen observer, — and must derive 
 infinite gratification from his constant study of men and 
 manners, which is sufficiently deep and searching to fit him 
 for the occupation of even the throne of England. I say 
 
 28 
 
326 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *even,' for at present, till Time's great hour-glass turns, it is 
 the grandest throne in the world. The Prince reads, under- 
 stands, and secretly laughs to scorn the table-cloth vagaries of 
 the Duchess of Rapidryder, the humours of my Lady Bouncer 
 and the nervous pruderies of the Honourable Miss Fitz-Gan- 
 der. And there is nothing he will appreciate so much in his 
 reception as a lack of toadyism, a sincere demeanour, an un- 
 ostentatious hospitality, a simplicity of speech, and a total 
 absence of affectation. Remember this, and take my advice 
 for what it is worth. Of all the Royalties at present flourish- 
 ing on this paltry planet, I have the greatest respect for the 
 Prince of Wales, and it is by reason of this very respect that 
 I do not intend, on this occasion, to thrust myself upon his 
 notice. I shall arrive at W^illowsmere when your * royal' 
 festivities are over. My homage to your fair spouse, the Lady 
 Sibyl, and believe me, 
 
 Yours as long as you desire it, 
 
 Lucio Rlmanez. 
 
 I laughed over this letter and showed it to my wife, who 
 did not laugh. She read it through with a closeness of atten- 
 tion that somewhat surprised me, and when she laid it down 
 there was a strange look of pain in her eyes. 
 
 '' How he despises us all !" she said slowly. '^ What scorn 
 underlies his words ! Do you not recognise it?" 
 
 '*He was always a cynic," I replied indifferently. ''I 
 never expect him to be anything else." 
 
 " He seems to know some of the ways of the women who 
 are coming here," she went on in the same musing accents. 
 " It is as if he read their thoughts, and perceived their 
 intentions at a distance." 
 
 Her brows knitted frowningly, and she seemed for some 
 time absorbed in gloomy meditation. But I did not pursue 
 the subject, — I was too intent on my own fussy preparations 
 for the Prince's arrival to care about anything else. 
 
 And, as I have said, Royalty, in the person of one of the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 327 
 
 most affable of men, came and went gracefully through the 
 whole programme devised for his entertainment, and then 
 departed again with his usual courteous acknowledgments for 
 the hospitality offered and accepted, — leaving us, as he very 
 often leaves everybody, charmed with his good-humour, pro- 
 vided that nothing has ruffled it. When, with his exit from 
 the scene, the whole party broke up, leaving my wife and me 
 to our own two selves once more, there came a strange silence 
 and desolation over the house that was like the stealthy sense 
 of some approaching calamity. Sibyl seemed to feel it as 
 much as I did, and though we said nothing to each other 
 concerning our mutual sensations, I could see that she was 
 under the same cloud of depression as myself. She went 
 oftener to ' Lily Cottage,' and always from these visits to the 
 fair-haired student among the roses, came back, I hopefully- 
 fancied in softer mood, — her very voice was gentler, — her 
 eyes more thoughtful and tender. One evening she said — 
 
 " I have been thinking, Geoffrey, that perhaps there is some 
 good in life after all, if I could only find it out and live it. 
 But you are the last person to help me in such a matter." 
 
 I was sitting in an arm-chair near the open window, smok- 
 ing, and I turned my eyes upon her with some astonishment 
 and a touch of indignation. 
 
 " What do you mean, Sibyl ?" I asked. ^' Surely you know 
 that I have the greatest desire to see you always in your best 
 aspect, — many of your ideas have been most repugnant to 
 me ..." 
 
 "Stop there!" she said quickly, her eyes flashing as she 
 spoke. "My ideas have been repugnant to you, you say? 
 What have you done, you as my husband, to change those 
 ideas? Have you not the same base passions as I? — and 
 do you not give way to them as basely ? What have I seen 
 in you from day to day that I should take you as an ex- 
 ample? You are master here, and you rule with all the 
 arrogance wealth can give, — you eat, drink and sleep, — you 
 entertain your acquaintances simply that you may astonish 
 
328 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 them by the excess of hixury in which you indulge, — you 
 read and smoke, shoot and ride, and there an end, — you are 
 an ordinary, not an exceptional man. Do you trouble to 
 ask what is wrong with me ? — do you try, with the patience 
 of a great love, to set before me nobler aims than those I 
 have consciously or unconsciously imbibed? — do you try to 
 lead me, an erring, passionate, misguided woman, into what 
 I dream of as the light, — the light of faith and hope which 
 alone gives peace ?' ' 
 
 And suddenly, burying her head in the pillows of the 
 couch on which she leaned, she broke into a fit of smothered 
 weeping. 
 
 I drew my cigar from my mouth and stared at her helplessly. 
 It was about an hour after dinner, and a warm soft autumnal 
 evening. I had eaten and drunk well, and I was drowsy and 
 heavy-brained. 
 
 **Dear me !" I murmured — ''you seem very unreasonable, 
 Sibyl ! I suppose you are hysterical . . ." 
 
 She sprang up from the couch, her tears dried on her 
 cheeks as though by sheer heat of the crimson glow that 
 flushed them, and she laughed wildly. 
 
 "Yes, that is it!" she exclaimed. "Hysteria! — nothing 
 else ! It is accountable for everything that moves a woman's 
 nature. A woman has no right to have any emotions that 
 cannot be cured by smelling-salts I Heart-ache ? — pooh ! — 
 cut her stay-lace ! Despair and a sense of sin and misery ? — 
 nonsense ! — bathe her temples with vinegar ! An uneasy con- 
 science ?— ah ! — for an uneasy conscience there is nothing 
 better than sal volatile ! Woman is a toy, — a breakable 
 fool's toy; — and when she is broken, throw her aside and 
 have done with her, — don't try to piece together the fragile 
 rubbish!" 
 
 She ceased abruptly, panting for breath, and before I could 
 collect my thoughts or find any words wherewith to reply, a 
 tall shadow suddenly darkened the embrasure of the window, 
 and a familiar voice inquired — 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 329 
 
 ''May I, with the privilege of friendship, enter unan- 
 nounced ?" 
 
 I started up. 
 
 " Rimanez !" I cried, seizing him by the hand. 
 
 "Nay, Geoffrey, my homage is due here first," he replied, 
 shaking off my grasp, and advancing to Sibyl, who stood per- 
 fectly still where she had risen up in her strange passion. 
 "Lady Sibyl, am I welcome?" 
 
 " Can you ask it !" she said, with an enchanting smile, and 
 in a voice from which all harshness and excitement had fled. 
 " More than welcome !" Here she gave him both her hands, 
 which he respectfully kissed. "You cannot imagine how 
 much I have longed to see you again ! ' ' 
 
 "I must apologize for my sudden appearance, Geoffrey," 
 he then observed, turning to me. "But as I walked here 
 from the station and came up your fine avenue of trees, I was 
 so struck with the loveliness of this place and the exquisite 
 peace of its surroundings, that, knowing my way through the 
 grounds, I thought I would just look about and see if you 
 were anywhere within sight before I presented myself at the 
 conventional door of entrance. And I was not disappointed, 
 — I found you, as I expected, enjoying each other's society, — 
 the happiest and most fortunate couple existent, — people 
 whom, out of all the world, I should be disposed to envy, if I 
 envied worldly happiness at all, which I do not." 
 
 I glanced at him quickly ;— he met my gaze with a perfectly 
 unembarrassed air, and I concluded that he had not overheard 
 Sibyl's sudden melodramatic outburst. 
 
 "Have you dined?" I asked, with my hand on the 
 bell. 
 
 "Thanks, yes. The town of Leamington provided me with 
 quite a sumptuous repast of bread and cheese and ale. I am 
 tired of luxuries you know, — that is why I find plain fare de- 
 licious. You are looking wonderfully well, Geoffrey ! — shall 
 I offend you if I say you are growing — yes — positively stout? 
 — with the stoutness befitting a true county gentleman who 
 
 28* 
 
330 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 means to be as gouty in the future as his respectable ances- 
 tors?" 
 
 I smiled, but not altogether with pleasure; it is never agree- 
 able to be called ' stout' in the presence of a beautiful woman 
 to whom one has only been wedded a matter of three months. 
 
 ''You have not put on any extra flesh," I said, by way of 
 feeble retort. 
 
 "No," he admitted, as he disposed his slim elegant figure 
 in an arm-chair near my own. "The necessary quantity of 
 flesh is a bore to me always, — extra flesh would be a positive 
 infliction. I should like, as the irreverent tliough reverend 
 Sidney Smith said on a hot day, 'to sit in my bones,' or 
 rather, to become a spirit of fine essence like Shakespeare's 
 Ariel, if such things were possible and permissible. How 
 admirably married life agrees with, you, Lady Sibyl !" 
 
 His fine eyes rested upon her with apparent admiration, — 
 she flushed under his gaze I saw, and seemed confused. 
 
 "When did you arrive in England?" she inquired. 
 
 "Yesterday," he answered. "I ran over Channel from 
 Honfleur in my yacht, — you did not know I had a yacht, 
 did you. Tempest ? — oh, you must come for a trip in her 
 some day. She is a quick vessel, and the weather was fair." 
 
 "Is Amiel with you?" I asked. 
 
 " No. I left him on board the yacht. I can, as the com- 
 mon people say, 'valet myself for a day or two." 
 
 "A day or two?" echoed Sibyl. "But you surely will 
 not leave us so soon ? You promised to make a long visit 
 here." 
 
 " Did I?" and he regarded her steadily, with the same lan- 
 guorous admiration in his eyes. " But, my dear Lady Sibyl, 
 time alters our ideas, and I am not sure whether you and your 
 excellent husband are of the same opinion as you were 
 when you started on your wedding-tour. You may not want 
 me now !" 
 
 He said this wilh a significance to which I paid no heed 
 whatever. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 331 
 
 *' Not want you !" I exclaimed. " I shall always want you, 
 Lucio, — you are the best friend I ever had, and the only 
 one I care to keep. Believe me ! — there's my hand upon 
 it!" 
 
 He looked at me curiously for a minute, — then turned his 
 head towards my wife. 
 
 ''And what does Lady Sibyl say?" he asked in a gentle, 
 almost caressing tone. 
 
 ''Lady Sibyl says," she answered with a smile, and the 
 colour coming and going in her cheeks, " that she will be 
 proud and glad if you will consider Willowsmere your home 
 as long as you have leisure to make it so, — and that she 
 hopes, — though you are reputed to be a hater of women," — 
 here she raised her beautiful eyes and fixed them full upon 
 him, — "you will relent a little in favour of your present 
 chatelaine 1" 
 
 With these words, and a playful salutation, she passed out 
 of the room into the garden, and stood on the lawn at a 
 little distance from us, her white robes shimmering in the 
 mellow autumnal twilight, — and Lucio, springing up from his 
 seat, looked after her, clapping his hand down heavily on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 "By Heaven!" he said softly, "a perfect woman! I 
 should be a churl to withstand her, — or you, my good Geof- 
 frey,"— and he regarded me earnestly. " I have led a very 
 devil of a life since I saw you last, — it's time I reformed, — 
 upon my soul it is ! The peaceful contemplation of virtuous 
 marriage will do me good; — send for my luggage to the sta- 
 tion, Geoffrey, and make the best of me, — I've come to stay f 
 
332 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 XXIX 
 
 A TRANQUIL time now ensued ; a time which, though I 
 knew it not, was just that singular pause so frequently observed 
 in nature before a storm, and in human life before a crush- 
 ing calamity. I put aside all troublesome and harassing 
 thoughts, and became oblivious of everything save my own 
 personal satisfaction in the renewal of the comradeship be- 
 tween myself and Lucio. We walked together, rode together, 
 and passed most of our days in each other's company ; never- 
 theless, though I gave my friend much of my closest confi- 
 dence I never spoke to him of the moral obliquities and per- 
 versions I had discovered in Sibyl's character, — not out of any 
 consideration for Sibyl, but simply because I knew by instinct 
 what his reply would be. He would have no sympathy with 
 my feelings. His keen sense of sarcasm would over-rule his 
 friendship, and he would retort upon me with the question, 
 What business had I, being imperfect myself, to expect per- 
 fection in my wife ? Like many others of my sex I had tlie 
 notion that I, as man, could do all I pleased, when I pleased 
 and how I pleased ; I could sink to a level lower than that of 
 the beasts if I chose, — but all the same I had the right to de- 
 mand from my wife the most flawless purity, to mate with my 
 defilement. I was aware how Lucio would treat this form of 
 arrogant egoism, and with what mocking laughter he would 
 receive any expression of ideas from me on the subject of mo- 
 lality in woman. So I was careful to let no hint of my actual 
 l)Osition escape me, and I comported myself on all occasions 
 to Sibyl with special tenderness and consideration, though 
 she, I thought, appeared rather to resent my playing the part 
 of lover-husband too openly. She was herself, in Lucio's 
 presence, strangely erratic of humour, by turns brilliant and 
 mournful, sometimes merry, and anon depressed : yet never 
 had she displayed a more captivating grace and charm of 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 2>^^ 
 
 manner. How foolish and blind I was all the while ! — how 
 dead to any perception of the formation and sequence of 
 events ! Absorbed in gross material pleasures, I ignored all 
 the hidden forces that make the history of an individual life 
 no less than of a whole nation, and looked upon each day 
 that dawned almost as if it had been my own creation and 
 possession, to waste as I thought fit, — never considering that 
 days are but so many white leaflets from God's chronicle of 
 human life, whereon we place our mark, good or bad, for the 
 just and exact summing-up of our thoughts and deeds here- 
 after. Had any one dared to say this truth to me then, I 
 should have bade him go and preach nonsense to children, — 
 but now, when I recall those white leaves of days that were 
 unrolled before me fresh and blank with every sunrise, and 
 with which I did nothing save scrawl my own Ego in a foul 
 smudge across each one, I tremble, and inwardly pray that I 
 may never be forced to send back my self-written record. 
 Yet of what use is it to pray against eternal Law ? It is 
 eternal Law that we shall ourselves count up our own mis- 
 deeds at the final reckoning, — hence it is no wonder that 
 many are found who prefer not to believe in a future after 
 death. Rightly do such esteem it better to die utterly than 
 be forced to live again and look back upon the wilful evil they 
 have done ! 
 
 October ripened slowly and almost imperceptibly towards 
 its end, and the trees put on their gorgeous autumnal tints of 
 burning crimson and gold. The weather remained fine and 
 warm, and what the French Canadians poetically term the 
 ' Summer of all Saints' gave us bright days and cloudless 
 moonlit evenings. The air was so mild that we were always 
 able to take our coffee after dinner on the terrace overlooking 
 the lawn in front of the drawing-room, — and it was on one 
 of these balmy nights that I was the interested spectator of a 
 strange scene between Lucio and Mavis Clare, — a scene I 
 should have thought impossible of occurrence had I not my- 
 self witnessed it. Mavis had dined at Willowsmere ; she very 
 
334 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 rarely so honoured us ; and there were a few other guests 
 besides. We had lingered over the coffee longer than usual, 
 for Mavis had given an extra charm to the conversation by her 
 eloquent vivacity and bright humour, and all present were 
 anxious to hear, see and know as much of the brilliant nov- 
 elist as possible. But when a full golden moon rose in mellow 
 splendour over the tree-tops, my wife suggested a stroll in the 
 grounds, and everyone agreeing to the proposal with delight, 
 we started, — more or less together, — some in couples, some 
 in groups of three or four. After a little desultory rambling, 
 however, the party got separated in the rose-gardens and adja- 
 cent shrubberies, and I found myself alone. I turned back to 
 the house to get my cigar-case which I had left on a table in 
 the library, and passing out again in another direction I strolled 
 slowly across the grass, smoking as I went, towards the river, 
 the silver gleam of which could clearly be discerned through 
 the fast-thinning foliage overhanging its banks. I had almost 
 reached the path that followed the course of the winding water 
 when I was brought to a standstill by the sound of voices, — 
 one a man's, low and persuasive, — the other a woman's, 
 tender, grave and somewhat tremulous. Neither voice could 
 be mistaken ; I recognised Lucio's rich penetrating tones, and 
 the sweet vidfa^ite accents of Mavis Clare. Out of sheer sur- 
 prise I paused, — had Lucio fallen in love, I wondered, half- 
 smiling? — was I about to discover that the supposed Svoman- 
 hater' had been tamed and caught at last? By Mavis too ! — 
 little Mavis, who was not beautiful according to accepted 
 standards, but who had something more than beauty to en- 
 ravish a proud and unbelieving soul. Here, as my thoughts 
 ran on, I was conscious of a foolish sense of jealousy, — why 
 should he choose Mavis, I thought, out of all women in the 
 world? Could he not leave her in peace wiih her dreams, 
 her books and her flowers ? — safe under the pure, wise, im- 
 passive gaze of Pallas Athene, whose cool brows were never 
 fevered by a touch of passion ? Something more than curi- 
 osity now impelled me to listen, and I cautiously advanced a 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 335 
 
 step or two towards the shadow of a broad ehii where I could 
 see without being seen. Yes, there was Rimanez, standing- 
 erect with folded arms, his dark, sad, inscrutable eyes fixed 
 on Mavis, who stood opposite to him a few paces off, looking 
 at him in her turn with an expression of mingled fascination 
 and fear. 
 
 " I have asked you, Mavis Clare," said Lucio slowly, " to 
 let me serve you. You have genius, — a rare quality in a 
 woman, — and I would advance your fortunes. I should not 
 be what I am if I did not try to persuade you to let me help 
 on your career. You are not rich, — I could show you how 
 to become so. You have a great fame — that I grant ; but you 
 have many enemies and slanderers who are for ever trying to 
 pull you down from the throne you have won. I could bring 
 these to your feet and make them your slaves. With your intel- 
 lectual power, your personal grace and gifts of temperament, I 
 could, if you would let me guide you, give you such far-reach- 
 ing influence, as no woman has possessed in this century. I 
 am no boaster, — I can do what I say and more ; and I ask 
 nothing from you in return except that you should follow my 
 advice implicitly. My advice, let me tell you, is not difficult 
 to follow ; most people find it easy ! ' ' 
 
 His expression of face, I thought, was very singular as he 
 spoke, — it was so haggard, dreary and woe-begone that one 
 might have imagined he was making some proposal that was 
 particularly repugnant to him, instead of offering to perform 
 the benevolent action of helping a hard-working literary 
 woman to achieve greater wealth and distinction. I waited 
 expectantly for Mavis to reply. 
 
 ''You are very good. Prince Rimanez," she said, after a 
 little pause, '' to take any thought for me at all. I cannot 
 imagine why you should do so ; for I am really nothing to 
 you. I have of course heard from Mr Tempest of your great 
 wealth and influence, and I have no doubt you mean kindly. 
 But I have never owed anything to any one, — no one has ever 
 helped me, — I have helped myself, and still prefer to do so. 
 
336 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 And really 1 have nothing to wish for, — except — when the time 
 comes — a happy death. It is true I am not rich, — but then 1 
 do not want to be rich. I would not be the possessor of 
 wealth for all the world ! To be surrounded with sycophants 
 and flatterers, — never to be able to distinguish false friends 
 from true, — to be loved for what you have, and not for what 
 you are I — oh no, it would be misery to me ! And I have 
 never craved for power, — except perhaps the power to win 
 love. And that I have, — many people love my books, and 
 through my books love me, — I feel their love, though I 
 may never see or know them personally. But I am so con- 
 scious of their sympathy that I love them in return without 
 the necessity of personal acquaintance. They have hearts 
 which respond to my heart, — that is all the power I care 
 about." 
 
 ''You forget your numerous enemies!" said Lucio, still 
 morosely regarding her. 
 
 ''No, I do not forget them," she returned, "But I forgive 
 them. They can do me no harm. As long as I do not lower 
 myself, no one else can lower me. If my own conscience is 
 clear, no reproaches can wound. My life is open to all, — 
 people can see how I live and what I do. I try to do well, — 
 but if there are those who think I do ill, I am sorry, and if 
 my faults can be amended I shall be glad to amend them. 
 Ohc must have enemies in this world, — that is, if one makes 
 any sort of position, — people without enemies are generally 
 nonentities. All who succeed in winning some little place of 
 independence must expect the grudging enmity of hundreds 
 who cannot find even the smallest foothold, and are therefore 
 failures in the battle of life, — I pity these sincerely, and when 
 they say or write cruel things of me, I know it is only spleen 
 and disappointment that moves both their tongues and pens, 
 and I freely pardon them. They cannot hurt or hinder me, — 
 in fact, no one can hurt or hinder me but myself." 
 
 I heard the trees rustle slightly, — a branch cracked, — and 
 peering through the leaves I saw that Lucio had advanced a 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 337 
 
 step closer to where Mavis stood. A faint smile was on his 
 face, softening it wonderfully and giving an almost supernat- 
 ural light to his beautiful dark features. 
 
 " Fair philosopher, you are almost a feminine Marcus Aure- 
 lius in your estimate of men and things," he said; ''but — 
 you are still a woman — and there is one thing lacking to your 
 life of sublime and calm contentment — a thing at whose touch 
 philosophy fails, and wisdom withers at its root. Love, Mavis 
 Clare ! — lover's love, devoted love, blindly passionate, — this 
 has not been yours as yet to win. No heart beats against your 
 own, — no tender arms caress you, — you are alone ! Men are 
 for the most part afraid of you, — being brute fools themselves, 
 they like their women to be brute fools also, — and they grudge 
 you your keen intellect, — your serene independence. Yet 
 which is best ? — the adoration of a brute fool, or the loneli- 
 ness pertaining to a spirit aloft on some snowy mountain-peak, 
 with no companions but the stars ? Think of it ! — the years 
 will pass, and you must needs grow old, — and with the years 
 will come that solitary neglect which makes age bitter. Now, 
 you will doubtless wonder at my words — yet believe me I speak 
 the truth when I say that I can give you love — not my love, 
 for I love none, — but I can bring to your feet the proudest 
 men in any country of the world as suitors for your hand. 
 You shall have your choice of them and your own time for 
 choosing, — and whomsoever you love, him you shall wed, . . . 
 why — what is wrong with you that you shrink from me thus?" 
 
 For she had retreated, and was gazing at him in a kind of 
 horror. 
 
 ''You terrify me I" she faltered, — and as the moonlight 
 fell upon her I could see that she was very pale. "Such 
 promises are incredible— impossible ! You speak as if you 
 were more than human ! I do not understand you, Prince 
 Rimanez, — you are different to anyone I ever met, and . . . 
 and , . . something in me stronger than myself warns me 
 against you. What are you ? — why do you talk to me so 
 strangely? Pardon me if I seem ungrateful . . . oh, let 
 
S;^8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 us go in — it is getting quite late 1 am sure, and I am 
 cold ..." 
 
 She trembled violently, and caught at the branch of a tree 
 to steady herself, — Rimanez stood immovably still, regarding 
 her with a fixed and almost mournful gaze. 
 
 *' You say my life is lonely, " she went on reluctantly, and 
 with a note of pathos in her sweet voice, " and you suggest 
 love and marriage as the only joys that can make a woman 
 happy. You may be right. I do not presume to assert that 
 you are wrong. I have many married women friends — but I 
 would not change my lot with any one of them. I have 
 dreamed of love, — but because I have not realized my dream 
 I am not the less content. If it is God's will that I should 
 be alone all my days, I shall not murmur, for my solitude 
 is not actual loneliness. Work is a good comrade, — then I 
 have books, and flowers and birds, — I am never really lonely. 
 And that I shall fully realize my dream of love one day I am 
 sure, — if not here, then hereafter. I can wait !" 
 
 As she spoke she looked up to the placid heavens where one 
 or two stars twinkled through the arching boughs, — her face 
 expressed angelic confidence and perfect peace, — and Rimanez 
 advancing a step or two, fully confronted her with a strange 
 light of exultation in his eyes. 
 
 " True, — you can wait, Mavis Clare !" he said in deep clear 
 tones from which all sadness had fled. ** You can afford to 
 wait ! Tell me, — think for a moment, — can you remember 
 me ? Is there a time on which you can look back, and look- 
 ing, see my face, not here but elsewhere? Think! Did 
 you ever see me long ago — in a far sphere of beauty and light, 
 when you were an Angel, Mavis, — and I was — not what I am 
 now ! How you tremble ! You need not fear me, — I would 
 not harm you for a thousand worlds ! I talk wildly at times, 
 I know ; — [ think of things that are past, — long, long past, — 
 and I am filled with regrets that burn my soul with fiercer 
 heat than fire. And so neither world's wealth, world's power, 
 nor world's love will tempt you. Mavis ! — and you, — a woman ! 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 339 
 
 You are a living miracle then, — as miraculous as the drop of 
 undefiled dew which reflects in its tiny circumference all the 
 colours of the sky, and sinks into the earth sweetly, carrying 
 moisture and refreshment where it falls ! I can do nothing 
 for you — you will not have my aid — you reject my service? 
 Then as I may not help you, you must help ?ne /" — and drop- 
 ping before her, he reverently took her hand and kissed it. 
 " I ask a very little thing of you ; pray for me ! I know you 
 are accustomed to pray, so it will be no trouble to you, — you 
 believe God hears you, — and when I look at you, / believe it 
 too. Only a pure woman can make faith possible to man. Pray 
 for me then, as one who has fallen from his higher and better 
 self, — who strives, but who may not attain, — who labours 
 under heavy punishment, — who would fain reach Heaven, 
 but who by the cursed will of man, and man alone, is kept 
 in Hell. Pray for me. Mavis Clare ! promise it ! — and so 
 shall you lift me a step nearer the glory I have lost !" 
 
 I listened, petrified with amazement. Could this be Lucio? 
 — the mocking, careless, cynical scoffer I knew, as I thought, 
 so well ? — was it really he who knelt thus like a repentant 
 sinner, abasing his proud head before a woman ? I saw Mavis 
 release her hand from his, the while she stood looking down 
 upon him in alarm and bewilderment. Presently she spoke 
 in sweet yet tremulous accents — 
 
 *' Since you desire it so earnestly, I promise," she said. 
 *' I will pray that the strange and bitter sorrow which seems 
 to consume you may be removed from your life " 
 
 ** Sorrow!" he echoed, interrupting her and springing to 
 his feet with an impassioned gesture. ''Woman, — genius, — 
 angel, — whatever you are, do not speak of one sorrow for me 1 
 I have a thousand thousand sorrows ! — aye a million million, 
 that are as little flames about my heart, and as deeply seated 
 as the centres of the universe ! The foul and filthy crimes of 
 men, — the base deceits and cruelties of women, — the ruthless, 
 murderous ingratitude of children, — the scorn of good, the 
 martyrdom of intellect, the selfishness, the avarice, the sensu- 
 
340 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ality of human life, the hideous blasphemy and sin of the 
 creature to the Creator, — these are my endless sorrows ! — 
 these keep me wretched and in chains when I would fain 
 be free. These create hell around me, and endless torture, 
 — these bind and crush me and pervert my being till I be- 
 come what I dare not name to myself or to others. And 
 yet, ... as the eternal God is my witness, ... I do not 
 think I am as bad as the worst man living ! I may tempt, 
 but I do not pursue, — I take the lead in many lives, yet I 
 make the way I go so plain that those who follow me do so by 
 their own choice and free will more than by my persuasion !" 
 He paused, — then continued in a softer tone — "You look 
 afraid of me, — but be assured you never had less cause for 
 terror. You have truth and purity — I honour both. You 
 will have none of my advice or assistance in the making of 
 your life's history, — to-night therefore we part, to meet no 
 more on earth. Never again. Mavis Clare ! — no, not through 
 all your quiet days of sweet and contented existence will I 
 cross your path, — before Heaven I swear it !" 
 
 *' But why?" asked Mavis gently, approaching him now as 
 she spoke, with a soft grace of movement, and laying her hand 
 on his arm — '' why do you speak with such a passion of self- 
 reproach? What dark cloud is on your mind? Surely you 
 have a noble nature, — and I feel that I have wronged you in 
 my thoughts, . . . you must forgive me — I have mistrusted 
 you " 
 
 *' You do well to mistrust me !" he answered, and with these 
 words he caught both her hands and held them in his own, 
 looking at her full in the face with eyes that flashed like 
 jewels. ** Your instinct teaches you rightly. Would there 
 were many more like you to doubt me and repel me ! One 
 word, — if, when I am gone, you ever think of me, think that 
 I am more to be pitied than the veriest paralyzed and starving 
 wretch that ever crawled on earth, — for he, perchance, has 
 hope — and I have none. And when you pray for me, — for 
 I hold you to this promise, — pray for one who dares not 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 341 
 
 pray for himself. You know the words, * Lead us not into 
 temptation but deliver us from evil' ? To-night you have 
 been led into temptation, though you knew it not, but you 
 have delivered yourself from evil as only a true soul can. 
 And now farewell! In life I shall see you no more: — in 
 death, — well, I have attended many death-beds in response 
 to the invitations of the moribund, but I shall not be present 
 at yours ! Perhaps, when your parting spirit is on the verge 
 between darkness and light, you may know who I was and 
 am, — and you may thank God with your last breath that we 
 parted to-night — as we do now — forever I" 
 
 He loosened his grasp of her, — she fell back from him, pale 
 and terrified, — for there was something now in the dark beauty 
 of his face that was unnatural and appalling. A sombre 
 shadow clouded his brows, — his eyes had gleams in them as 
 of fire, — and a smile was on his lips, half tender, half cruel. 
 His strange expression moved even me to a sense of fear, and 
 I shivered with sudden cold, though the air was warm and 
 balmy. Slowly retreating. Mavis moved away, looking round 
 at him now and then as she went, in wistful wonder and 
 alarm, — till in a minute or two her slight figure, in its shim- 
 mering silken white robe, had vanished among the trees. I 
 lingered, hesitating and uncertain what to do, — then finally 
 determining to get back to the house if possible without being 
 noticed, I made one step, when Lucio's voice, scarcely raised, 
 addressed me — 
 
 '' Well, eavesdropper ! Why did you not come out of the 
 shadow of that elm-tree and see the play to better advantage ?" 
 
 Surprised and confused, I advanced, mumbling some unin- 
 telligible excuse. 
 
 '' You saw a pretty bit of acting here," he went on, striking 
 a match and lighting a cigar the while he regarded me coolly, 
 his eyes twinkling with their usual mockery. '' You know my 
 theory, that all men and all women are purchasable for gold ? 
 Well, I wanted to try Mavis Clare. She rejected all my ad- 
 vantageous offers, as you must have heard, and I could only 
 
 29* 
 
342 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 make matters smooth by asking her to pray for me. That 
 I did this very melodramatically I hope you will admit ? A 
 woman of that dreamy idealistic temperament always likes 
 to imagine that there is a man who is grateful for her prayers !" 
 
 *'You seemed very much in earnest about it!" I said, 
 vexed with myself that he had caught me spying. 
 
 ''Why, of course!" he responded, thrusting his arm 
 familiarly through mine. ''I had an audience! Two fas- 
 tidious critics of dramatic art heard me rant my rantings, — 
 I had to do my best !" 
 
 ''Two critics?" I repeated perplexedly. 
 
 " Yes. You on one side, — Lady Sibyl on the other. Lady 
 Sibyl rose, after the custom of fashionable beauties at the 
 opera, before the last scene, in order to get home in good 
 time for supper !" 
 
 He laughed wildly and discordantly, and I felt desperately 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 " You must be mistaken, Lucio," I said. " That /listened 
 I admit, — and it was wrong of me to do so,— but my wife 
 would never condescend ..." 
 
 "Ah, then it must have been a sylph of the woods that 
 glided out of the shadow with a silken train behind her and 
 diamonds in her hair," he retorted gaily. "Tut, Geoffrey! 
 — don't look so crestfallen. I have done with Mavis Clare 
 and she with me. I have not been making love to her, — I 
 have simply, just to amuse myself, tested her character, — and 
 I find it stronger than I thought. The combat is over. She 
 will never go my way, — nor, I fear, shall I ever go hers." 
 
 "Upon my word, Lucio," I said with some irritation, 
 "your disposition seems to grow more and more erratic and 
 singular every day !" 
 
 "Does it not!" he answered with a droll affectation of 
 interested surprise in himself. " I am a curious creature alto- 
 gether ! Wealth is mine and I care not a jot for it, — power is 
 mine and I loathe its responsibility ; — in fact, I would rather 
 be anything but what I am. Look at the lights of your ' home, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 343 
 
 sweet home,' Geoffrey!" this he said as we emerged from 
 among the trees on to the moonlit lawn, from whence could be 
 seen the shining of the electric lamps in the drawing-room. 
 " Lady Sibyl is there, — an enchanting and perfect woman, who 
 lives but to welcome you to her embracing arms ! P'ortunate 
 man ! — who would not envy you ! Love ! — who would, who 
 could exist without it — save me ! Who, in Europe at least, 
 would forego the delights of kissing (which the Japanese by- 
 the-bye consider a disgusting habit), without embraces, — and 
 all those other endearments which are supposed to dignify the 
 progress of true love ! One never tires of these things, — there 
 is no satiety ! I wish I could love somebody ! ' ' 
 
 '' So you can, if you like," I said, with a little uneasy laugh. 
 
 '^1 cannot. It is not in me. You heard me tell Mavis 
 Clare as much. I have it in my power to make other people 
 fall in love, somewhat after the dexterous fashion practised by 
 match-making mothers, — but for myself, love on this planet is 
 too low a thing — too brief in duration. Last night, in a dream, 
 — I have strange dreams at times, — I saw one whom possibly I 
 could love, — but she was a Spirit, with eyes more lustrous than 
 the morning, and a form as transparent as flame ; — she could 
 sing sweetly, and I watched her soaring upwards and listened 
 to her song. It was a wild song, and to many mortal ears 
 meaningless, — it was something like this ..." and his rich 
 baritone pealed lusciously forth in melodious tune — 
 
 Into the Light, 
 
 Into the heart of the fire, 
 To the innermost core of the deathless flame 
 
 I ascend, — I aspire ! 
 Under me rolls the whirling Earth 
 With the noise of a myriad wheels that run 
 
 Ever round and about the sun, — 
 Over me circles the splendid heaven 
 Strewn with the stars of morn and even, 
 
 And I a queen 
 
 Of the air serene, 
 Float with my flag-like wings unfurled, 
 Alone — alone — "twixt God and the world ! 
 
344 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 Here he broke off with a laugh. ''She was a strange 
 Spirit," he said, " because she could see nothing but herself 
 * 'twixt God and the world. ' She was evidently quite unaware 
 of the numerous existing barriers put up by mankind between 
 themselves and their Maker. I wonder what unenlightened 
 sphere she came from ! ' ' 
 
 I looked at him in mingled wonder and impatience. 
 
 "You talk wildly," I said. ''And you sing wildly, — of 
 things that mean nothing and are nothing." 
 
 He smiled, lifting his eyes to the moon, now shining her 
 fullest and brightest. 
 
 "True!" he replied. " Things which have meaning and 
 are valuable, have all to do with money or appt^tite, Geoffrey ! 
 There is no wider outlook evidently. But we were speaking 
 of love, and I hold that love should be eternal as hate. Here 
 you have the substance of my religious creed if I have any, — 
 that there are two spiritual forces ruling the universe — love and 
 hate, — and that their incessant quarrel creates the general con- 
 fusion of life. Both contend one against the other, — and only 
 at Judgment-Day will it be proved which is the strongest. 
 I am on the side of Hate myself, — for at present Hate has 
 scored all the victories worth winning, while Love has been 
 so often martyred that there is only the poor ghost of it left 
 on earth." 
 
 At that moment my wife's figure appeared at the drawing- 
 room window, and Lucio threw away his half-smoked cigar. 
 
 "Your guardian-angel beckons!" he said, looking at me 
 with an odd expression of something like pity mingled with 
 disdain. " Let us go in." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 345 
 
 XXX 
 
 The very next night but one after Liicio's strange inter- 
 view with Mavis Claie, the thunderbolt destined to wreck my 
 life and humiliate me to the dust fell with appalling sudden- 
 ness. No warning given ! — it came at a moment when I had 
 dared to deem myself happy. All that day, — the last day I 
 was ever to know of pride or self-gratulation, — I had enjoyed 
 life to the full ; it was a day too in which Sibyl had seemed 
 transformed to a sweeter gentler woman than I had hitherto 
 known her, — when all her attractions of beauty and manner 
 were apparently put forth to captivate and enthrall me as though 
 she were yet to be wooed and won. Or, — did she mean to 
 bewitch and subjugate Lucio? Of this I never thought, — 
 never dreamed : — I only saw in my wife an enchantress of the 
 most voluptuous and delicate loveliness, — a woman whose very 
 garments seemed to cling to her tenderly as though proud of 
 clothing so exquisite a form, — a creature whose every glance 
 was brilliant, whose every smile was a ravishment, — and whose 
 voice, attuned to the softest and most caressing tones appeared 
 in its every utterance to assure me of a deeper and more last- 
 ing love than I had yet enjoyed. The hours flew by on golden 
 wings, — we all three, — Sibyl, myself and Lucio, — had at- 
 tained, as I imagined, to a perfect unity of friendship and 
 mutual understanding, — we had passed that last day together 
 in the outlying \voods of Willowsmere, under a gorgeous 
 canopy of autumn leaves, through which the sun shed mellow 
 beams of rose and gold, — we had had an alfresco luncheon in 
 the open air. — Lucio had sung for us wild old ballads and love- 
 madrigals till the very foliage had seemed to tremble with joy 
 at the sound of such entrancing melody, — and not a cloud had 
 marred the perfect peace and pleasure of the time. Mavis 
 Clare was not with us, — and I was glad. Somehow I felt 
 that of late she had been more or less a discordant element 
 
346 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 whenever she had joined our party. I admired her, — in a sort 
 of fraternal half-patronizing way I even loved her, — neverthe- 
 less I was conscious that her ways were not as our ways, — her 
 thoughts not as our thoughts. I placed the fault on her of 
 course ; 1 concluded that it was because she had what I elected 
 to call Miterary egoism,' instead of by its rightful name, the 
 spirit of honourable independence. I never considered the 
 inflated quality of my own egoism, — the poor pride of a ' cash 
 and county position,' which is the pettiest sort of vain-glory 
 anyone can indulge in, — and after turning the matter over in 
 my mind, I decided that Mavis was a very charming young 
 woman, with great literary gifts and an amazing pride which 
 made it totally impossible for her to associate with many 
 'great' people, so-called, — as she would never descend to the 
 necessary level of flunkeyish servility which they expected, and 
 which /certainly demanded. I should almost have been in- 
 clined to relegate her to Grub Street, had not a faint sense of 
 justice as well as shame held me back from doing her that in- 
 dignity even in my thoughts. However, I was too much im- 
 pressed with my own vast resources of unlimited wealth to 
 realize the fact that anyone who, like Mavis, earns indepen- 
 dence by intellectual work and worth alone, is entitled to feel 
 a far greater pride than those who by mere chance of birth or 
 heritage become the possessors of millions. Then again, 
 Mavis Clare's literary position was, though I liked her person- 
 ally, always a kind of reproach to me when I thought of my 
 own abortive efforts to win the laurels of fame. So that on 
 the whole I was glad she did not spend that day with us in 
 the woods ; — of course, if I had paid any attention to the 
 ' trifles which make up the sum of life' I should have remem- 
 bered that Lucio had told her he would ''meet her no more 
 on earth," — but I judged this to be a mere trifle of hasty and 
 melodramatic speech, without any intentional meaning. 
 
 So my last twenty-four hours of happiness passed away in 
 halcyon serenity, — I felt a sense of deepening pleasure in 
 existence, and I began to believe that the future had brighter 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 347 
 
 things in store for me than I had lately ventured to expect. 
 Sibyl's new phase of gentleness and tenderness towards me, 
 combined with her rare beauty, seemed to augur that the mis- 
 understandings between us would be of short duration, and that 
 her nature, too early rendered harsh and cynical by a ' society' 
 education, would soften in time to that beautiful womanliness 
 which is, after all, woman's best charm. Thus I thought, in 
 blissful and contented reverie, reclining under the branching 
 autumnal foliage, with my fair wife beside me, and listening 
 to the rich tones of my friend Lucio's magnificent voice peal- 
 ing forth sonorous, wild melodies, as the sunset deepened in 
 the sky and the twilight shadows fell. Then came the night — 
 the night which dropped only for a few hours over the quiet 
 landscape, but for ever over me ! 
 
 We had dined late, and, pleasantly fatigued with our day in 
 the open air had retired early. I had latterly grown a heavy 
 sleeper, and I suppose I must have slumbered some hours, 
 when I was awakened suddenly as though by an imperative 
 touch from some unseen hand. I started up in my bed, — the 
 night-lamp was burning dimly, and by its glimmer I saw that 
 Sibyl was no longer at my side. My heart gave one bound 
 against my ribs and then almost stood still — a sense of some- 
 thing unexpected and calamitous chilled my blood. I pushed 
 aside the embroidered silken hangings of the bed and peered 
 into the room, — it was empty. Then I rose hastily, put on 
 my clothes and went to the door, — it was carefully shut, but 
 not locked as it had been when we retired for the night. I 
 opened it without the least noise, and looked out into the 
 long passage, — no one there ! Immediately opposite the bed- 
 room door there was a winding oak staircase leading down to 
 a broad corridor which in former times had been used as a 
 music-room or picture-gallery, — an ancient organ, still sweet 
 of tone, occupied one end of it with dull golden pipes tower- 
 ing up to the carved and embossed ceiling, — the other end was 
 lit by a large oriel window like that of a church, filled with 
 rare old stained glass, representing in various niches the lives 
 
348 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 of the saints, the centre subject being the martyrdom of St 
 Stephen. Advancing with soft caution to the baUistrade over- 
 looking this gallery I gazed down into it, and for a moment 
 could see nothing on the polished floor but the criss-cross pat- 
 terns made by the moonlight falling through the great window, 
 — but presently, as I watched breathlessly, wondering where 
 Sibyl could have gone to at this time of night, I saw a dark 
 tall shadow waver across the moonlit network of lines, and I 
 heard the smothered sound of voices. With my pulses beating 
 furiously, and a sensation of suffocation in my throat, — full of 
 strange thoughts and suspicions which I dared not define, I 
 crept slowly and stealthily down the stair, till as my foot 
 touched the last step I saw — what nearly struck me to the 
 ground with a shock of agony — and I had to draw back and 
 bite my lips hard to repress the cry that nearly escaped them. 
 There,— there before me in the full moonlight, with the colours 
 of the red and blue robes of the painted saints on the window 
 glowing blood-like and azure about her, knelt my wife, — 
 arrayed in a diaphanous garment of filmy white which betrayed 
 rather than concealed the outline of her form, — her wealth of 
 hair falling about her in wild disorder, — her hands clasped in 
 supplication, — her pale face upturned ; and above her towered 
 the dark imposing figure of Lucio ! I stared at the twain with 
 dry burning eyes, — what did this portend? Was she — my 
 wife — false? Was he — my friend — a traitor? 
 
 '^ Patience ! — patience !" I muttered to myself. "This is a 
 piece of acting doubtless — such as chanced the other night with 
 Mavis Clare! — patience! — let us hear this — this comedy!" 
 And, drawing myself close up against the wall, I leaned there, 
 scarcely drawing breath, waiting for her \o\cq — (or /lis ; — when 
 they spoke I should know, — yes, I should know all ! And I 
 fastened my looks on them as they stood there, — vaguely 
 wondering even in my tense anguish, at the fearful light on 
 Lucio's face, — a light which could scarcely be the reflection 
 of the moon, as he backed the window, — and at the scorn of 
 his frowning brows. What terrific humour swayed him? — 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 349 
 
 why did he, even to my stupefied thought appear more than 
 human ? — why did his very beauty seem hideous at that 
 moment, and his aspect fiendish ? Hush — hush ! She spoke, 
 — my wife, — I heard her every word, — heard all and endured 
 all without falling dead at her feet in the extremity of my dis- 
 honour and despair ! 
 
 "I love you !" she wailed. *' Lucio, I love you, and my 
 love is killing me ! Be merciful ! — have pity on my passion ! 
 Love me for one hour, one little hour ! — it is not much to ask, 
 and afterwards, — do with me whit you will, — torture me, 
 brand me an outcast in the public sight, curse me before 
 Heaven — I care nothing — I am yours body and soul — I love 
 you!" 
 
 Her accents vibrated with mad, idolatrous pleading, — I 
 listened infuriated, but dumb. *' Hush,— hush !" I told 
 myself. '' This is a comedy — not yet played out !" And I 
 waited, with every nerve strained, for Lucio' s reply. It came, 
 accompanied by a laugh, low and sarcastic. 
 
 "You flatter me!" he said. "I regret I am unable to 
 return the compliment !" 
 
 My heart gave a throb of relief and fierce joy, — almost I 
 could have joined in his ironical laughter. She — Sibyl — 
 dragged herself nearer to him. 
 
 "Lucio — Lucio!" she murmured. "Have you a heart? 
 Can you reject me when I pray to you thus ? — when I offer 
 you all myself, — all that I am, or ever hope to be ? Am I so 
 repugnant to you ? Many men would give their lives if I 
 would say to them what I say to you, — but they are nothing 
 to me — you alone are my world, — the breath of my existence ! 
 — ah, Lucio, can you not believe, will you not realize how 
 deeply I love you !" 
 
 He turned towards her with a sudden fierce movement that 
 startled me, — and the cloud of scorn upon his brows grew 
 darker. 
 
 " I know you love me !" he said, and from where I stood I 
 saw the cold derisive smile flash from his lips to his eyes in 
 
 30 
 
350 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 lightning-like mockery. " 1 have always known it. Your 
 vampire soul leaped to mine at the first glance I ever gave 
 you, — you were a false foul thing from the first, and you 
 recognised your master! Yes — your master!" for she had 
 uttered a faint cry as if in fear, — and he, stooping, snatched 
 her two hands and grasped them hard in his own " Listen 
 to the truth of yourself for once from one who is not afraid 
 to speak it ! — you love me, — and truly your body and soul are 
 mine to claim if I so choose ! You married with a lie upon 
 your lips ; you swore fidelity to your husband before God, 
 with infidelity already in your thoughts, and by your own 
 act made the mystical blessing a blasphemy and a curse ! 
 Wonder not then that the curse has fallen ! I knew it all ! — 
 the kiss I gave you on your wedding-day put fire in your 
 blood and sealed you mine ! — why, you would have fled to 
 me that very night, had I demanded it, — had I loved you as 
 you love me, — that is, if you choose to call the disease of vanity 
 and desire that riots in your veins by such a name as love ! 
 But now hear me /" and as he held her two wrists he looked 
 down upon her with such black wrath depicted in his face as 
 seemed to create a darkness round him where he stood ; — " I 
 hate you ! Yes — I hate you, and all such women as you ! 
 For you corrupt the world, — you turn good to evil, — you 
 deepen folly into crime, — with the seduction of your nude 
 limbs and lying eyes, you make fools, cowards and beasts of 
 men ! When you die, your bodies generate foulness, — things 
 of the mould and slime are formed out of the flesh that was 
 once fair for man's delight, — you are no use in life— you be- 
 come poison in death, — I hate you all ! I read your soul — it 
 is an open book to me — and it is branded with a name given 
 to those who are publicly vile, but which should, of strict 
 right and justice, be equally bestowed on women of your 
 position and type, who occupy pride and place in this world's 
 standing, and who have not the excuse of poverty for selling 
 themselves to the devil !" 
 
 He ceased abruptly and with passion, making a movement 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 351 
 
 as though to fling her from him, — but she dung to his arm, — 
 chmg with all the pertinacity of the loathly insect he had taken 
 from the bosom of the dead Egyptian woman and made a toy 
 of to amuse his leisure ! And I, looking on and listening, 
 honoured him for his plain speaking, for his courage in telling 
 this shameless creature what she was in the opinion of an 
 honest man, without glozing over her outrageous conduct for 
 the sake of civility or social observance. My friend, my 
 more than friend ! He was true, — he was loyal, — he had 
 neither desire nor intent to betray or dishonour me. My heart 
 swelled with gratitude to him, and also with a curious sense 
 of feeble self pity, — compassionating myself intensely I could 
 have sobbed aloud in nervous fury and pain, had not my de- 
 sire to hear more repressed my personal excitement and emo- 
 tion. I watched my wife wonderingly — what had become of 
 her pride that she still knelt before the man who had taunted 
 her with such words as should have been beyond all en- 
 durance ? 
 
 '*Lucio! . . . Lucio !" she whispered, and her whispers 
 sounded through the long gallery like the hiss of a snake — 
 *'say what you will— say all you will of me, — you can say 
 nothing that is not true. I am vile — I own it. But is it of 
 much avail to be virtuous ? What pleasure comes from good- 
 ness? — what gratification from self-denial? There is no God 
 to care ! A few years, and we all die, and are forgotten even 
 by those who loved us, — why should we lose such joys as we 
 may have for the mere asking? Surely it is not difficult to 
 love even for an hour ? — am I not fair to look upon ? — and 
 is all this beauty of my face and form worthless in your sight, 
 and you no more than man ? Murder me as you may with 
 all the cruelty of cruel words, I care nothing ! — I love you — 
 love you !" arid in a perfect passion of self-abandonment she 
 sprang to her feet, tossing back her rich hair over her shoul- 
 ders, and stood erect, a very bacchante of wild loveliness. 
 " Look at me ! You shall not, — you dare not spurn such a 
 love as mine !" 
 
352 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 Dead silence followed her outburst, and I stared in fasci- 
 nated awe at Lucio as he turned more fully round and con- 
 fronted her. The expression of his countenance struck me 
 then as quite unearthly, — his beautiful broad brows were 
 knitted in a darkling line of menace, — his eyes literally 
 blazed with scorn, and yet he laughed, — a low laugh, reso- 
 nant with satire. 
 
 '* Shall not! — dare not!" he echoed disdainfully. 
 ''Woman's words, — woman's ranting! — the shriek of the 
 outraged feminine animal who fails to attract, as she thinks, 
 her chosen mate. Such a love as } ours ! — what is it? Deg- 
 radation to whosoever shall accept it, — shame to whosoever 
 shall rely upon it ! You make a boast of your beauty : your 
 mirror shows you a pleasing image, — but your mirror lies as 
 admirably as you do ! You see within it, not the reflection 
 of yourself, for that would cause you to recoil in horror, . . . 
 you merely look upon your fleshly covering, a garment of tis- 
 sues, shrinkable, perishable, and only fit to mingle with the 
 dust from which it sprang. Your beauty ! I see none of it, 
 — I see You! and to me you are hideous, and "vvill remain 
 hideous for ever. I hate you ! — I hate you with the bitter- 
 ness of an immeasurable and unforgiving hatred, — for you 
 have done me a wrong, — you have wrought an injury upon 
 me, — you have added another burden to the load of punish- 
 ment I carry !"" 
 
 She made a forward movement with outstretched arms, — 
 he repulsed her by a fierce gesture. 
 
 '^ Stand back !" he said. " Be afraid of me, as of an un- 
 known Terror ! O pitiless Heaven !— to think of it ! — but a 
 night ag<5 I was lifted a step nearer to my lost delight !— and 
 now this woman drags me back, and down ! — and yet again I 
 hear the barring of the gates of Paradise ! O infinite torture ! 
 O wicked -souls of men and women ! — is there no touch of 
 grace or thought of God left in you ! — and will ye make my 
 sorrows eternal ! ' ' 
 
 He stood, lifting hi.s face to the light where it streamed 
 
TPIE SORROWS OF SATAN 353 
 
 through the oriel window, and the moonbeams colouring 
 themselves faintly roseate as they filtered through the painted 
 garments of St Stephen, showed a great and terrible anguish 
 in his eyes. I hc^ard him with amazement and awe, — I could 
 not imagine what he meant by his strange \vords, — and it was 
 evident by her expression, that my reckless and abandoned 
 wife was equally mystified. 
 
 '*Lucio," she murmured, " Lucio, . . . what is it . . . 
 what have I done? — I who would not wound you for the 
 world ? — I who but seek your love, Lucio, to repay it in full 
 with such fond passion and tenderness as you have never 
 known ! For this and this only, I married Geoffrey, — I 
 chose your friend as husband because he was your friend !" 
 (O perfidious woman !) "and because I saw his foolish ego- 
 tism, — his pride in himself and his riches, — his blind con- 
 fidence in me and in you ; — I knew that I could, after a time 
 follow the fashion of many another woman in my set and 
 choose my lover, — ah, my lover ! — I had chosen him already, 
 — I have chosen you, Lucio ! — yes, though you hate me you 
 cannot hinder me from loving you, — I shall love you till I 
 die!" 
 
 He turned his gaze upon her steadily, — the gloom deepen- 
 ing on his brows. 
 
 '' And after you die ?" he said. '' Will you love me then ?" 
 
 There was a stern derision in his tone which appeared to 
 vaguely terrify her. 
 
 ''After death ! . . ." she stammered. 
 
 **Yes, — after death!" he repeated sombrely. "There is 
 an after; — as your mother knows!" A faint exclamation 
 escaped her, — she fixed her eyes upon him affrightedly. 
 "Fair lady," he went on, "your mother was, like yourself, 
 a voluptuary. She, like you, made up her mind to ' follow 
 the fashion,' as you put it, as soon as her husband's 'blind' 
 or willing confidence was gained. She chose, not one lover 
 but many. You know her end. In the written but miscom- 
 prehended laws of Nature, a diseased body is the natural 
 
354 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 expression of a diseased mind, — her face in her last days was 
 the reflex of her soul. You shudder? — the thought of her 
 hideousness is repellent to your self-conscious beauty? Yet 
 the evil that was in her is also in you, — it festers in your 
 blood slowly but surely, and as you have no faith in God to 
 cure the disease, it will have its way — even at the final 
 moment when death clutches at your throat and stops your 
 breathing. The smile upon your frozen lips then will not 
 be the smile of a saint, believe me, but of a sinner ! Death 
 is never deceived, though life may be. And afterwards . . . 
 I ask again, will you love me, do you think? . . . when you 
 know WHO I am?" 
 
 I was myself startled at his manner of putting this strange 
 question ; — I saw her lift her hands beseechingly towards him, 
 and she seemed to tremble. 
 
 *' When I know who you are !" she repeated wonderingly. 
 *'Do I not know? You are Lucio, — Lucio Rimanez — my 
 love, — my love ! — whose voice is my music, — whose beauty 
 I adore, — whose looks are my heaven ..." 
 
 '* And Hell!" he interposed, with a low laugh. ^' Come 
 here!" 
 
 She went towards him eagerly, yet falteringly. He pointed 
 to the ground, — I saw the rare blue diamond he always wore 
 on his right hand flash like a flame in the moonrays. 
 
 *' Since you love me so well," he said, ''kneel down and 
 worship me !" 
 
 She dropped on her knees — and clasped her hands, — I 
 strove to move, — to speak, — but some resistless force held 
 me dumb and motionless ; — the light from the stained glass 
 window fell upon her face and showed its fairness illumined 
 by a smile of perfect rapture. 
 
 *' With every pulse of my being I worship you I" she mur- 
 mured passionately. " My king ! — my god ! The cruel things 
 you say but deepen my lov^e for you, — you can kill, but you 
 can never change me ! For one kiss of your lips I would 
 die, — for one embrace from you I would give my soul ..." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 355 
 
 " Have you one to give ?" he asked derisively. "Is it not 
 already disposed of? You should make sure of that first ! 
 Stay where you are and let me look at you ! So ! — a woman, 
 wearing a husband's name, holding a husband's honour, 
 clothed in the very garments purchased with a husband's 
 money, and newly risen from a husband's side, steals forth 
 thus in the night, seeking to disgrace him, and pollute herself 
 by the vulgarest unchastity ! And this is all that the culture 
 and training of nineteenth-century civilization can do for 
 you ? Myself, I prefer the barbaric fashion of old times when 
 rough savages fought for their women as they fought for their 
 cattle, treated them as cattle, and kept them in their place, 
 never dreaming of endowing them with such strong virtues as 
 truth and honour. If women were pure and true, then the 
 lost happiness of the world might return to it, — but the 
 majority of them are like you, liars, ever pretending to be 
 what they are not. I may do what I choose with you, you 
 say ? — torture you, kill you, brand you with the name of out- 
 cast in the public sight, and curse you before Heaven — if I 
 will only love you ! — all this is melodramatic speech, and I 
 never cared for melodrama at any time. I shall neither kill 
 you, brand you, curse you, nor love you; I shall simply — 
 call your husband !" 
 
 I stirred from my hiding-place, — then stopped. She sprang 
 to her feet in an insensate passion of anger and shame. 
 
 "You dare not!" she panted. "You dare not so . . . 
 disgrace me ! " 
 
 "Disgrace you!" he echoed scornfully. "That remark 
 comes rather late, seeing you have disgraced yourself ! ' ' 
 
 But she was now fairly roused. All the savagery and 
 obstinacy of her nature was awakened, and she stood like 
 some beautiful wild animal at bay, trembling from head to 
 foot with the violence of her emotions. 
 
 "You repulse me, — you scorn me!" she muttered in hur- 
 ried fierce accents that scarcely rose above an angry whisper. 
 "You make a mockery of my heart's anguish and despair, 
 
356 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 but you shall suffer for it ! 1 am your match, — nay your 
 equal ! You shall not spurn me a second time. You ask, 
 will I love you when I know who you are, — it is your pleasure 
 to deal in mysteries, but I have no mysteries — I am a woman 
 who loves you with all the passion of a life, — and I will 
 murder myself and you, rather than live to know that I have 
 prayed you for your love in vain. Do you think I came unpre- 
 pared ? — no !" and she suddenly drew from her bosom a short 
 steel dagger with a jewelled hilt, a curio I recognised as one 
 of the gifts to her on her marriage. *' Love me, I say ! — or 
 I will stab myself dead here at your feet and cry out to 
 Geoffrey that you have murdered me !" 
 
 She raised the weapon aloft. I almost sprang forward — but 
 I drew back again quickly as I saw Lucio seize the hand that 
 held the dagger and draw it firmly down, — while wresting the 
 weapon from her clutch he snapped it asunder and flung the 
 pieces on the floor. 
 
 "Your place was the stage, Madam!" he said. "You 
 should have been the chief female mime at some ' high- 
 class' theatre ! You would have adorned the boards, drawn 
 the mob, had as many lovers, stagey and private, as you 
 pleased, been invited to act at Windsor, obtained a payment- 
 jewel from the Queen, and written your name in her auto- 
 graph album ! That should undoubtedly have been your 
 ' great' career — you were born for it — made for it ! You 
 would have been as brute-souled as you are now, — but that 
 would not have mattered, — mimes are exempt from chas- 
 tity!" 
 
 In the action of breaking the dagger, and in the intense 
 bitterness of his speech he had thiust her back a few paces 
 from him, and she stood breathless and white with rage, eye- 
 ing him in mingled passion and terror. For a moment she 
 was silent, — then advancing slowly with the feline suppleness 
 of movement which had given her a reputation for grace ex- 
 ceeding that of any woman in England, she said in deliber- 
 ately measured accents — 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 357 
 
 -" Liicio Rimanez, I have borne your insults as I would bear 
 my death at your hands because I love you ! You loathe me, 
 you say — you repulse me, — I love you still ! You cannot cast 
 me off — I am yours. You shall love me, or I will die, — one 
 of the two. Take time for thought, — I leave you to-night, — 
 I give you all tomorrow to consider, — love me, — give me 
 yourself — be my lover — and I will play the comedy of social 
 life as well as any other woman, — so well that my husband 
 shall never know. But refuse me again as you have refused 
 me now, and I will make away with myself. I am not ' act- 
 ing,' — I am speaking calmly and with conviction ; I mean 
 what I say." 
 
 " Do you?" queried Lucio coldly. "Let me congratulate 
 you I Few women attain to such coherence I" 
 
 ''I will put an end to this life of mine," she went on, 
 paymg no sort of heed to his words. " I cannot endure ex- 
 istence without your love, Lucio!" and a dreary pathos vi- 
 brated in her voice. " I hunger for the kisses of your lips, — 
 the clasp of your arms ! Do you know — do you ever think 
 of your own power ? — the cruel, terrible power of your eyes, 
 your speech, your smile, — the beauty which makes you more 
 like an angel than a man, — and have you no pity? Do you 
 think that ever a man was born like you ?" He looked at her 
 as she said this and a faint smile rested on his lips. *' When 
 you speak, I hear music — when you sing, it seems to me 
 that I understand what the melodies of a poet's heaven must 
 be ; — surely, surely you know that your very looks are a 
 snare to the warm weak soul of a woman ! Lucio !" — and 
 emboldened by his silence, she stole nearer to him — ''meet 
 me tomorrow in the lane near the cottasje of Mavis Clare." 
 
 He started as if he had been stung — but not a word escaped 
 him. 
 
 " I heard all you said to her the other night," she con- 
 tinued, advancing yet a step closer to his side. " I followed 
 you, — and I listened. I was well-nigh mad with jealousy — I 
 thought — I feared — you loved her, — but I was wrong. I never 
 
358 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 do thank God for anything, — but I thanked God that night 
 that I was wrong ! She was not made for you — I am ! Meet 
 me outside her house, where the great white rose-tree is in 
 bloom — gather one, one of those little autumnal roses and 
 give it to me — I shall understand it as a signal — a signal that 
 I may come to you tomorrow night, and not be cursed or re- 
 pulsed, but loved — loved ! — ah Lucio ! promise me ! — one little 
 rose ! — the symbol of an hour's love ! — then let me die, — I 
 shall have had all I ask of life !" 
 
 With a sudden swift movement, she flung herself upon his 
 breast, and circling her arms about his neck, lifted her face to 
 his. The moonbeams showed me her eyes alit with rapture, 
 her lips trembling with passion, her bosom heaving, . . . the 
 blood surged up to my brain and a red mist swam before my 
 sight, . . . would Lucio yield ? Not he ! — he loosened her 
 desperate hands from about his throat and forced her back, 
 holding her at arm's length. 
 
 " Woman, false and accursed !" he said in tones that were 
 sonorous and terrific. ''You know not what you seek ! All 
 that you ask of life shall be yours in death ! — this is the law, 
 therefore beware what demands you make lest they be too fully 
 granted ! A rose from the cottage of Mavis Clare? — a rose 
 from the garden of Eden ! — they are one and the same to me ! 
 Not for my gathering or yours ! Love and joy ? For the 
 unfaithful there is no love, — for the impure there is no joy. 
 Add no more to the measure of my hatred and vengeance ! 
 Go while there is yet time, — go and front the destiny you have 
 made for yourself — for nothing can alter it ! And as for me, 
 whom you love, — before whom you have knelt in idolatrous 
 worship" — and a low, fierce laugh escaped him, — "why, — 
 restrain your feverish desires, fair fiend ! — have patience ! — we 
 shall meet ere long !" 
 
 I could not bear the scene another moment, and springing 
 from my hiding-place I dragged my wife away from him and 
 flung myself between them. 
 
 *' Let me defend you, Lucio, from the pertinacities of this 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 359 
 
 wanton !" I cried with a wild burst of laughter. " An hour 
 ago I thought she was my wife, — I find her nothing but a 
 purchased chattel who seeks a change of masters !" 
 
 XXXI 
 
 For one instant we all three stood facing each other, — I 
 breathless and mad with fury, — Lucio calm and disdainful, — 
 my wife staggering back from me, half-swooning with fear. 
 In an access of black rage, I rushed upon her and seized her 
 in my arms. 
 
 '^ I have heard you !" I said, " I have seen you ! I have 
 watched you kneel before my true friend, my loyal comrade 
 there, and try your best to make him as vile as yourself ! I 
 am that poor fool, your husband, — that 'blind egoist whose 
 confidence you sought to win— and to betray ! I am the 
 unhappy wretch whose surplus of world's cash has bought for 
 him in marriage a shameless courtesan ! You dare to talk of 
 love ? You profane its very name ! Good God ! — what are 
 such women as you made of? You throw yourselves into our 
 arms, — you demand our care — you exact our respect — you 
 tempt our senses — you win our hearts, — and then you make 
 fools of us all ! Fools, and worse than fools, — you make us 
 men without feeling, conscience, faith, or pity ! If we become 
 criminals, what wonder ! If we do things that shame our sex, 
 is it not because you set us the example ! God — God ! I, 
 who loved you, — yes, loved you in spite of all that my mar- 
 riage with you taught me. — I, who would have died to save 
 you from a shadow of suspicion, — I am the one out of all the 
 world you choose to murder by your treachery ! ' ' 
 
 I loosened my grasp of her, — she recovered her self-posses- 
 sion by an effort and looked at me straightly with cold unfeel- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 '' What did you marry me for?" she demanded — " For my 
 sake or your own ?" 
 
36o THE SORROWS OF SATAX 
 
 I was silent, — too choked with wrath and pain to speak. 
 All I could do was to hold out my hand to Lucio, who 
 grasped it with a cordial and sympathetic pressure. Yet 
 ... I fancied he smiled ! 
 
 **Was it because you desired to make me happy out of 
 pure love for me?" pursued Sibyl, "or because you wished 
 to add dignity to your own position by wedding the daughter 
 of an Earl ? Your motives were not unselfish, — you chose 
 me simply because I was the beauty of the day, whom London 
 men stared at and talked of, — and because it gave you a cer- 
 tain ' prestige' to have me for your wife, in the same way 
 as it gave you a footing with Royalty to be the owner of the 
 Derby-winner. I told you honestly what I was before our 
 marriage, — it made no effect upon your vanity and egoism. 
 I never loved you, — I could not love you, and I told you so. 
 You have heard, so you say, all that has passed between me 
 and Lucio, — therefore you know why I married you. I state 
 it boldly to your face, — it was that I might have your intimate 
 friend for my lover. That you should pretend to be scan- 
 dalized at this, is absurd ; it is a common position of things 
 in France, and is becoming equally common in England. 
 Morality has always been declared unnecessary for men, — 
 it is becoming equally unnecessary for women !" 
 
 I stared at her, amazed at the glibness of her speech, and 
 the cool convincing manner in which she spoke, after her 
 recent access of passion and excitement. 
 
 "You have only to read the 'new' fiction," she went on, 
 a mocking smile lighting up her pale face, "and indeed all 
 ' new' literature generally, to be assured that your ideas of 
 domestic virtue are quite out of date. Both men and women 
 are, according to certain accepted writers of the day, at equal 
 liberty to love when they will and where they may. Polyg- 
 amous purity is the ' new' creed ! Such love, in fact, so we 
 are taught, constitutes the only 'sacred' union. If you want 
 to alter this 'movement,' and return to the old-fashioned 
 types of the modest maiden and the immaculate matron, you 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 361 
 
 must sentence all the ' new' writers of profitable pruriency to 
 penal servitude for life, and institute a Government censor- 
 ship of the modern press. As matters stand, your attitude of 
 the outraged husband is not only ridiculous, — it is unfashion- 
 able. I assure you I do not feel the slightest prick of con- 
 science in saying I love Lucio, — any woman might be proud 
 of loving him ; — he, however, will not, or cannot love me, — 
 we have had a 'scene,' and you have completed the dramatic 
 effect by witnessing it, — there is no more to be said or done 
 in the affair. I do not suppose you can divorce me, — but if 
 you can, you may — I shall make no defence." 
 
 She turned, as if to go ; — I still stared dumbly at her, find- 
 ing no Avords to cope with her effrontery, — when Lucio's 
 voice, attuned to a grave and soothing suavity, interposed — 
 
 " This is a very painful and distressing state of things," he 
 said, and the strange half-cynical, half-contemptuous smile 
 still rested on his lips — " but I must positively protest against 
 the idea of divorce, not only for her ladyship's sake, but my 
 own. I am entirely innocent in the matter I" 
 
 *' Innocent 1" I exclaimed, grasping him again by the hand. 
 " You are nobility itself, Lucio ! — as loyal a friend as ever man 
 had. I thank you for your courage, — for the plain and honest 
 manner in which you have spoken. I heard all you said ! 
 Nothing was too strong, — nothing could be too strong to 
 awaken this misguided woman to a sense of her outrageous 
 conduct, — her unfaithfulness " 
 
 ''Pardon me!" he interrupted delicately. "The Lady 
 Sibyl can scarcely be called unfaithful, Geoffrey. She suf- 
 fers, — from — let us call it, a little exaltation of nerves ! In 
 thought she may be guilty of infidelity, but society does not 
 know that, — and in act she is pure, — pure as the newly-driven 
 snow, — and as the newly-driven snow^, \vill society, itself im- 
 maculate, regard her ! ' ' 
 
 His eyes glittered, — I met his chill derisive glance. 
 
 " You think as I do, Lucio !" I said hoarsely. "You feel 
 with me, that a wife's unchaste thought is as vile as her un- 
 Q 31 
 
362 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 chaste act. There is no excuse, — no palliative for such cruel 
 and abominable ingratitude. Why," — and my voice rose 
 unconsciously as I turned fiercely again towards Sibyl, — 
 '* did I not free you and your family from the heavy pressure 
 of poverty and debt ? Have I grudged you anything ? Are 
 you not loaded with jewels? — have you not greater luxuries 
 and liberties than a queen ? And do you not owe me at least 
 some duty?" 
 
 '' I ow^e you nothing !" she responded boldly. ** I gave you 
 what you paid for, — my beauty and my social position. It 
 was a fair bargain !" 
 
 ** A dear and bitter one !" I cried. 
 
 '* Maybe so. But such as it was, you struck it, — not I. 
 You can end it when you please, — the law ..." 
 
 ** The law will give you no freedom in such a case," inter- 
 posed Lucio with a kind of satirical urbanity. *' A judicial 
 separation on the ground of mcompatibility of temper might 
 be possible certainly — but would not that be a pity? Her 
 ladyship is unfortunate in her tastes, — that is all ! — she se- 
 lected me as her cavaliere scrvenfe, and I refused the situa- 
 tion, — hence there is nothing for it but to forget this un- 
 pleasant incident, and try to live on a better understanding 
 for the future." 
 
 " Do you think," said my wife, advancing with her proud 
 head uplifted in scorn, the while she pointed at me, — "do 
 you think 1 will live with him after what he has seen and 
 heard to-night ? What do you take me for !" 
 
 *'For a very charming woman of hasty impulses and un- 
 wise reasoning," replied Lucio with an air of sarcastic gal- 
 lantry, ** Lady Sibyl, you are illogical, — most of your sex are. 
 You can do no good by prolonging this scene, — a most un- 
 pleasant and trying one to us poor men. You know how we 
 hate ' scenes' ! Let me beg of you to retire ! Your duty is 
 to your husband ; pray heaven he may forget this midnight 
 delirium of yours, and set it down to some strange illness 
 rather than to any evil intention. " 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 363 
 
 For all answer she came towards him, stretching out her 
 arms in wild appeal. 
 
 "Lucio!" she cried — " Lucio, my love! Good-night! — 
 Good-bye !" 
 
 I sprang between him and her advancing form. 
 
 "Before my very face!" I exclaimed. ''O infamous 
 woman ! Have you no shame ! ' ' 
 
 " None !*' she said, with a wild smile. ** I glory in my love 
 for such a king of worth and beauty ! Look at him ! — and 
 then look at yourself in the nearest mirror that reflects so 
 poor and mean a picture of a man ! How, even in your 
 egoism, could you deem it possible for a woman to love you 
 when he was near ! Stand out of the light ! — you interpose a 
 shadow between my god and me !'.' 
 
 As she uttered these mad words her aspect was so strange 
 and unearthly, that out of sheer stupefied wonder I mechanic- 
 ally did as she bade me, and stood aside. She regarded me 
 fixedly. 
 
 "I may as well say good-bye to you also," she observed, 
 "for I shall never live with you again." 
 
 " Nor I with you !" 1 said fiercely. 
 
 "Nor I with you — nor I with you!" she repeated like a 
 child saying a lesson. " Of course not ! — if I do not live with 
 you, you cannot live with me !" She laughed discordantly; 
 then turned her beseeching gaze once more upon Lucio, — 
 " Good-bye !" she said. 
 
 He looked at her with a curious fixity, but returned no 
 word m answer. His eyes flashed coldly in the moonlight 
 like sharp steel, and he smiled. She regarded him with such 
 passionate intentness that it seemed as though she sought to 
 draw his very soul into herself by the magnetism of her glance, 
 — but he stood unmoved, a very statue of fine disdain and in- 
 tellectual self- repression. My scarcely controlled fury broke 
 out again at the sight of her dumb yearning, and I gave vent 
 to a shout of scornful laughter. 
 
 " By heaven, a veritable new Venus and reluctant Adonis !" 
 
364 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 I cried deliriously. " A poet should be here to immortalize 
 so touching a scene! Go— go!" and I motioned her away 
 with a furious gesture. " Go, if you do not want me to mur- 
 der you ! Go, with the proud consciousness that you have 
 worked all the mischief and ruin that is naostdear to the heart 
 of a woman, — you have spoilt a life and dishonoured a name, 
 — you can do no more, — your feminine triumph is complete ! 
 Go ! — would to God I might never see your face again ! — 
 would to God I had been spared the misery of having married 
 you !" 
 
 She paid no attention whatever to my words, but kept her 
 eyes fixed on Lucio. Retreating slowly, she seemed to feel 
 rather than see her way to the winding stair, and there, turn- 
 ing, she began to ascend. Half way up she paused — looked 
 back and fully confronted us once more, — with a wild wicked 
 rapture on her face she kissed her hands to Lucio, smiling like 
 a spectral woman in a dream, — then she went onward and 
 upward, step by step, till the last white fold of her robe had 
 vanished, — and we two, — my friend and I, — were alone. 
 Facing one another we stood, silently, — I met his sombre eyes 
 and thought I read an infinite compassion in them ! — then, — 
 while I yet looked upon him, something seemed to clutch my 
 throat and stop my breathing, — his dark and beautiful coun- 
 tenance appeared to me to grow suddenly lurid as with fire, — 
 a coronal of flame seemed to tremble above his brows, — the 
 moonlight glistened blood-red, — a noise was in my ears of 
 mingled thunder and music as though the silent organ at the 
 end of the gallery were played by hands invisible ; — struggling 
 against these delusive sensations, I involuntarily stretched out 
 my hands . . . 
 
 *' Lucio! ..." I gasped — ''Lucio . . . my friend ! . . . 
 I think, . . . lam, . . . dying! My heart is broken !" 
 
 As I spoke, a great blackness closed over me, — and I fell 
 senseless. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 365 
 
 XXXII 
 
 Oh, the blessedness of absolute unconsciousness ! It is 
 enough to make one wish that death were indeed annihi- 
 lation ! Utter oblivion, — complete destruction, — surely this 
 would be a greater mercy to the erring soul of man than the 
 terrible God's-gift of Immortality, — the dazzling impress of 
 that divine ' Image' of the Creator in which we are all made, 
 and which we can never obliterate from our beings. I, who 
 have realized to the full the unalterable truth of eternal life, — 
 eternal regeneration for each individual spirit in each indi- 
 vidual human creature, look upon the endless futures through 
 which I am compelled to take my part with something more 
 like horror than gratitude. For I have wasted my time and 
 thrown away priceless opportunities, — and though repentance 
 may retrieve these, the work of retrieval is long and bitter. 
 It is easier to lose a glory than to win it ; and if I could 
 have died the death that positivists hope for at the very 
 moment when I learned the full measure of my heart's 
 desolation, surely it would have been well ! But my tem- 
 porary swoon was only too brief, — and when I recovered I 
 found myself in Lucio'sown apartment, one of the largest and 
 most sumptuously furnished of all the guest-chambers at Wil- 
 lowsmere, — the windows were wide open, and the floor was 
 flooded with moonlight. As I shuddered coldly back to life 
 and consciousness, I heard a tinkling sound of tune, and 
 opening my eyes wearily I saw Lucio himself seated in the 
 full radiance of the moon with a mandoline on his knee from 
 which he was softly striking delicate impromptu melodies. I 
 was amazed at this, — astounded that while I personally was 
 overwhelmed with a weight of woe, he should still be capable 
 of amusing himself. It is a common idea with us all that 
 when we ourselves are put out, no one else should dare to be 
 merry, — in fact we expect Nature itself to wear a miserable 
 
366 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 face if our own beloved Ego is disturbed by any trouble, — 
 such is the extent of our ridiculous self-consciousness. I 
 moved in my chair and half rose from it, — when Lucio, still 
 thrumming the strings of his instrument piano pianissimo^ 
 said — 
 
 '' Keep still, Geoffrey. You'll be all right in a few minutes. 
 Don't worry yourself." 
 
 '' Worry myself!" I echoed bitterly. '' Why not say don't 
 kill yourself!" 
 
 "Because I see no necessity to offer you that advice at 
 present," he responded coolly — ** and if there were necessity, 
 I doubt if I should give it, — because 1 consider it better to kill 
 one's self than worry one's self. However opinions differ. I 
 want you to take this matter lightly. ' ' 
 
 "■ Lightly ! — take my own dishonour and disgrace lightly !" 
 I exclaimed, almost leaping from my chair. '* You ask too 
 much!" 
 
 " My good fellow, I ask no more than is asked and expected 
 of a hundred ' society' husbands to-day. Consider ! — your 
 wife has been led away from her soberer judgment and 
 reasoning by an exalted and hysterical passion for me on 
 account of my looks, — not for myself at all — because she 
 really does not know Me, — she only sees me as I appear to be. 
 The love of handsome exterior personalities is a common de- 
 lusion of the fair sex — and passes in time like other women's 
 diseases. No actual dishonour or disgrace attaches to her or 
 to you, — nothing has been seen, heard, or done in public. 
 This being so, I can't understand what you are making a fuss 
 about. The great object of social life, you know, is to hide 
 all savage passions and domestic differences from the gaze of 
 the vulgar crowd. You can be as bad as you like in private — 
 only God sees — and that does not matter !" 
 
 His eyes had a mocking lustre in them, — twanging his man- 
 doline, he sang under his breath — 
 
 "If she be not fair for me 
 What care I how fair she be !" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 367 
 
 *'That is the true spirit, Geoffrey," he went on. "It 
 sounds flippant to you no doubt in your present tragic frame 
 of mind — but it is the only way to treat women, in marriage 
 or out of it. Before the world and society your wife is like 
 Caesar's, above suspicion. Only you and I (we will leave God 
 out) have been the witnesses of her attack of hysteria ..." 
 
 "Hysteria, you call it! She loves you!" I said hotly. 
 " And she has always loved you. She confessed it, — and you 
 admitted that you always knew it !" 
 
 " I always knew she was hysterical — yes — If that is what you 
 mean," he answered. " The majority of women have no real 
 feelings, no serious emotions — except one — vanity. They do 
 not know what a great love means, — their chief desire is for 
 conquest, — and failing in this, they run up the gamut of baf- 
 fled passion to the pitch of frenetic hysteria, which with some 
 becomes chronic. Lady Sibyl suffers in this way. Now listen 
 to me. I will go off to Paris or Moscow or Berlin at once, — 
 after what has happened of course I cannot stay here, — and I 
 give you my word I will not intrude myself into your domestic 
 circle again. In a few days you will tide over this rupture, 
 and learn the wisdom of supporting the differences that occur 
 in matrimony, with composure " 
 
 "Impossible! I will not part with you!" I said vehe- 
 mently. " Nor will I live with her ! Better the companion- 
 ship of a true friend than that of a false wife !" 
 
 He raised his eyebrows with a puzzled half-humorous ex- 
 pression — then shrugged his shoulders, as one who gives up 
 a difficult argument. Rising, he put aside his mandoline and 
 came over to me, his tall imposing figure casting a gigantic 
 shadow in the brilliant moonbeams. 
 
 " Upon my word, you put me in a very awkward position, 
 Geoffrey, — what is to be done? You can get a judicial 
 separation if you like, but I think it would be an unwise 
 course of procedure after barely four months of marriage. 
 The world would be set talking at once. Really it is better 
 to do anything than give the gossips a chance for floating 
 
368 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 scandal. Look here — don't decide anything hastily, — come 
 up to town with me for a day, and leave your wife alone to 
 meditate upon her foolishness and its possible consequences, 
 — then you will be better able to judge as to your future 
 movements. Go to your room and sleep till morning." 
 
 ''Sleep!" I repeated with a shudder. ''In that room 
 
 where she " I broke off with a cry and looked at him 
 
 imploringly. " Am I going mad I wonder ! JMy brain seems 
 on fire ! If I could forget ! ... if I could forget ! Lucio 
 — if you, my loyal friend, had been false to me I should have 
 died, — your truth, your honour have saved me !" 
 
 He smiled — an odd, cynical little smile. 
 
 "Tut — I make no boast of virtue," he rejoined. " If the 
 lady's beauty had been any temptation to me I might have 
 yielded to her charms, — in so doing I should have been no 
 more than man, as she herself suggested. But perhaj^s I am 
 more than man ! at any rate bodily beauty in woman makes no 
 sort of effect on me, unless it is accompanied by beauty of 
 soul, — then it does make an effect, and a very extraordinary 
 one. It provokes me to try how deep the beauty goes — 
 whether it is impervious or vulnerable. As I find it, so I 
 leave it." 
 
 I stared wearily at the moonlight patterns on the floor. 
 
 " What am I to do ?" I asked. " What would you advise ?" 
 
 "Come up to town with me," he replied. "You can 
 leave a note for your wife, explaining your absence, — and at 
 one of the clubs we will talk over the matter quietly, and 
 decide how best to avoid a social scandal. Meanwhile, go 
 to bed. If you won't go back to your own room, sleep in 
 the spare one next to mine." 
 
 I rose mechanically and prepared to obey him. He watched 
 me furtively. 
 
 " Will you take a composing draught if I mix it for you?" 
 he said. "It's harmless, and will give you a few hours' 
 sleep." 
 
 " I would take poison from your hand !" I answered reck- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 369 
 
 lessly. *' Why don't you mix that for me? — and then, . . , 
 then I should sleep indeed, — and forget this horrible night !" 
 
 '' No, — unfortunately you would not forget !" he said, going 
 to his dressing-case and taking out a small white powder 
 which he dissolved gradually in a glass of water. " That is 
 the worst of what people call dying. I must instruct you in 
 a little science by-and-by, to distract your thoughts. The 
 scientific part of death, — the business that goes on behind 
 the scenes you know — will interest you very much — it is 
 highly instructive, particularly that section of it which I am 
 entitled to call the regeneration of atoms. The brain-cells 
 are atoms, and within these are other atoms called memories, 
 curiously vital and marvellously prolific! Drink this," and 
 he handed me the mixture he had prepared. '' For temporary 
 purposes it is much better than death— because it does numb 
 and paralyze the conscious atoms for a little while, whereas 
 death only liberates them to a larger and more obstinate 
 vitality." 
 
 I was too self-absorbed to heed or understand his words, 
 but I drank what he gave me submissively and returned the 
 glass, — he still watched me closely for about a minute Then 
 he opened the door of the apartment which adjoined his own. 
 
 "Throw yourself on that bed and close }Our eyes," he 
 continued in somewhat peremptory accents. "Till morning 
 breaks I give you a respite," — and he smiled strangely, — 
 "both from dreams and memories! Plunge into Oblivion, 
 my friend ! — brief as it is and as it must ever be, it is sweet ! 
 — even to a millionaire !" 
 
 The ironical tone of his voice vexed me, — I looked at him 
 half reproachfully, and saw his proud beautiful face, pale as 
 marble, clear cut as a cameo, soften as I met his eyes, — I felt 
 he was sorry for me despite his love of satire, — and grasping 
 his hand I pressed it fervently without offering any other 
 reply. Then, going into the next room as he bade me, I lay 
 down, and falling asleep almost instantly, I remembered no 
 more. 
 
 y 
 
370 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 With the morning came full consciousness ; I realized bit- 
 terly all that had happened, but I was no longer inclined to 
 bemoan my fate. My senses were stricken, as it seemed, too 
 numb and rigid for any further outbreak of passion. A hard 
 callousness took the place of outraged feeling ; and though 
 despair was in my heart, my mind was made up to one stern 
 resolve, — I would look upon Sibyl no more. Never again 
 should that fair face, the deceitful mask of a false nature, 
 tempt my sight and move me to pity or forgiveness, — that I 
 determined. Leaving the room in which I had passed the 
 night I went to my study and wrote the following letter : 
 
 Sibyl, 
 
 After the degrading and disgraceful scene of last 
 night you must be aware that any further intercourse between 
 us is impossible. Prince Rimanez and I are leaving for Lon- 
 don ; we shall not return. You can continue to reside at 
 Willowsmere, — the house is yours, — and the half of my fortune 
 unconditionally settled upon you on our marriage-day will 
 enable you to keep up the fashions of your * set,' and live 
 with that luxury and extravagance you deem necessary to an 
 ' aristocratic' position. I have decided to travel, — and I in- 
 tend to make such arrangements as may prevent, if possible, 
 our ever meeting again, though I shall of course do my best 
 for my own sake, to avoid any scandal. To reproach you for 
 your conduct would be useless ; you are lost to all sense of 
 shame. You have abased yourself in the humiliation of a 
 guilty passion before a man who despises you, — who, in his 
 own loyal and noble nature, hates you for your infidelity and 
 hypocrisy, — and I can find no i;ardon for the wrong you have 
 thus done to me, and the injury you have brought upon my 
 name. I leave you to the judL;ment of your own conscience, 
 — if you have one, — which is doubtful. Such women as you 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 371 
 
 are seldom troubled with remorse. It is not likely you will 
 ever see me or the man to whom you have offered your unde- 
 sired love, again, — make of your life what you can or will, I 
 am indifferent to your movements, and for my own part, shall 
 endeavour as much as may be, to forget that you exist. 
 Your husband 
 
 Geoffrey Tempest. 
 
 This letter, folded and sealed, I sent to my wife in her own 
 apartments, by her maid, — the girl came back and said she 
 had delivered it, but that there was no answer. Her ladyship 
 had a severe headache and meant to keep her room that morn- 
 ing. I expressed just as much civil regret as a confidential 
 maid would naturally expect from the newly-wed ded husband 
 of her mistress, — and then, giving instructions to my man 
 Morris to pack my portmanteau, I partook of a hurried break- 
 fast with Lucio in more or less silence and constraint, for the 
 servants were in attendance, and I did not wish them to sus- 
 pect that anything was wrong. For their benefit, I gave out 
 that my friend and I were called suddenly to town on urgent 
 business, — that we might be absent a couple of days, perhaps 
 longer, — and that any special message or telegram could be 
 sent on to me at Arthur's Club. I was thankful when we at 
 last got away, — when the tall picturesque red gables of Wil- 
 lowsmere vanished from my sight, — and when finally, seated 
 in a railway smoking-carriage reserved for our two selves we 
 were able to watch the miles of distance gradually extending 
 between us and the beautiful autumnal woods of poet-haunted 
 Warwickshire. For a long time we kept silence, turning over 
 and pretending to read the morning's papers, — till presently 
 flinging down the dull and wearisome ' Times' sheet, I sighed 
 heavily, and leaning back, closed my eyes. 
 
 " I am truly very much distressed about all this," said 
 Lucio then, with extreme gentleness and suavity. '' It seems 
 to me that /am the adverse element in the affair. If Lady 
 Sibyl had never seen me " 
 
372 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ''Why, then I should never have seen her/'' I responded 
 bitterly. '' It was through you I met her first." 
 
 **True!" and he eyed me thoughtfully. ''lam very un- 
 fortunately placed ! — it is almos: as if I were to blame, 
 though no one could be more innocent or well-intentioned 
 than myself!" He smiled, — then wxnt on very gravely — 
 " 1 really should avoid scandalous gossip if I were you, — 1 do 
 not speak of my own involuntary share in the disaster, — 
 what people say of me is quite immaterial ; but for the lady's 
 sake " 
 
 " For my own sake I shall try to avoid it," I said brusquely, 
 whereat his eyes glittered strangely. "It is myself I have to 
 consider most of all. I shall, as I hinted to you this morn- 
 ing, travel for a few years. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, — go on a tiger-hunting expedition in India," he 
 suggested — " or kill elephants in Africa. It is what a great 
 many men do when their wives forget themselves. Several 
 well-known husbands are abroad just now I" 
 
 Again the brilliant enigmatical smile flashed over his face, 
 — but I could not smile in answer. I stared moodily out of 
 the window at the bare autumnal fields past which the train 
 flew, — bare of harvest, — stripped of foliage — like my own 
 miserable life. 
 
 "Come and winter with me in Egypt," he continued. 
 " Come in my yacht ' The Flame,' — we will take her to 
 Alexandria, — and then do the Nile in a dahabeah, and forget 
 that such frivolous dolls as women exist, except to be played 
 with by us ' superior' creatures and thrown aside." 
 
 "Egypt — the Nile!" I murmured, — somehow the idea 
 pleased me. " Yes, — why not?" 
 
 " Why not indeed !" he echoed. " The proposal is agree- 
 able to you I am sure. Come and see the land of the old gods, 
 — the land where my princess used to live and torture the souls 
 of men ! — perhaps we may discover the remains of her last 
 victim, — who knows I" 
 
 I avoided his gaze ; — the recollection of the horrible winged 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 373 
 
 thing he persisted in imagining to be the transmigrated soul 
 of an evil woman, was repugnant to me. Ahnost I felt as if 
 there were some subtle connection between that hateful creature 
 and my wife Sibyl. I was glad when the train reached London, 
 and we, taking a hansom, were plunged into the ver\ vortex 
 of human life. The perpetual noise of traffic, the motley 
 crowds of people, the shouting of news-boys and omnibus- 
 conductors, — all this hubbub was grateful to my ear.s, and for 
 a time at least, distracted my thoughts. We lunched at the 
 Savoy, and amused ourselves with noting the town noodles of 
 fashion, — the inane young man in the stocks of the stiff high 
 collar, and wearing the manacles of equally stiff and exag- 
 gerated cuffs, a veritable prisoner in the dock of silly custom, 
 the frivolous fool of a w'oman, painted and powdered, with 
 false hair and dyed eyebrows, trying to look as much like 
 a paid courtesan as possible, — the elderly matron, skipping 
 forward on high heels, and attempting by the assum.ption of 
 juvenile airs and graces to cover up and conceal the obtrusive 
 facts of a too obvious paunch and overlapping bosom, — the 
 would-be dandy and ' beau' of seventy, strangely possessed by 
 youthful desires and manifesting the same by goat-like caper- 
 ings at the heels of young married women, — these and such- 
 like contemptible units of a contemptible social swarm, passed 
 before us like puppets at a country fair, and aroused us in turn 
 to laughter or disdain. While we yet lingered over our wine, 
 a man came in alone, and sat down at the table next to ours ; 
 — he had with him a book which, after giving his orders for 
 luncheon, he at once opened at a marked place and began to 
 read with absorbed attention. I recognised the cover of the 
 volume and knew it to be Mavis Clare's '* Differences." A 
 haze floated before my sight, — a sensation of rising tears was 
 in my throat, — I saw the fair face, earnest eyes and sweet smile 
 of Mavis, — that woman-wearer of the laurel-crown, — that 
 keeper of the lilies of purity and peace. Alas, those lilies ! — 
 they were for me 
 
 32 
 
374 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 " des Heurs etranges,- 
 Avec leurs airs de sceptres d'anges ; 
 De thyrses lutnineux pour doigts de seraphins, — 
 Leurs parfums sont trop torts, tout ensemble, et trop fins !" 
 
 I shaded my eyes with one hand, — }et under that shade I 
 felt that Lucio watched me closely. Presently he spoke softly, 
 just as if he had read my thoughts. 
 
 *' Considering the effect a perfectly innocent woman has on 
 the mind of even an evil man, it's strange, isn't it, that there 
 are so few of them !" 
 
 I did not answer. 
 
 ** In the present day," he went on, " there are a number of 
 females clamouring like unnatural hens in a barn-yard about 
 their ' rights' and ' wrongs. ' Their greatest right, their highest 
 privilege is to guide and guard the souls of men. I'his, they 
 for the most part, throw away as worthless. Aristocratic 
 women, royal women even, hand over the care of their chil- 
 dren to hired attendants and inferiors, and then are surprised 
 and injured if those children turn out to be either fools or 
 blackguards. If I were controller of the State, I would make 
 it a law that every mother should be bound to nurse and guard 
 her children herself as nature intended, unless prevented by 
 ill-health, in which case she would have to get a couple of 
 doctors' certificates to certify the fact. Otherwise, any woman 
 refu-ing to comply with the law should be sentenced to im- 
 prisonment with hard labour. This would bring them to their 
 senses. The idleness, wickedness, extravagance and selfishness 
 of women, make men the boors and egotists they are." 
 
 I looked up. 
 
 "The devil is in the whole business," I said bitterly. ** If 
 women were good, men would have nothing to do with them. 
 Look round you at what is called * society' ! How many 
 men there are who deliberately choose tamted women for 
 their wives, and leave the innocent uncared for ! Take Mavis 
 Clare " 
 
 -^•Edmond Eostand. ' La Prtncesse Lointaine.' 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 375 
 
 "Oh you were thinking of Mavis Clare, were you?" he 
 rejoined, with a quick glance at me. " But she would be a 
 difficult prize for any man to win. She does not seek to be 
 married, — and she is not uncared for, since the whole world 
 cares for her. ' ' 
 
 " That is a sort of impersonal love," I answered. " It does 
 not give her the protection such a woman needs, and ought to 
 obtain." 
 
 "Do you want to become her lover?" he asked with a 
 slight smile. " I'm afraid you've no chance." 
 
 "I! Her lover! Good God!" I exclaimed, the blood 
 rushing hotly to my face at the mere suggestion. " What a 
 profane idea !" 
 
 " You are right, — it is profane," he agreed, still smiling. 
 *'It is as though I should propose your stealing the sacra- 
 mental cup from a church, wiih just this difference, — you 
 might succeed in running off with the cup because it is only 
 the church's property, but you would never succeed in win- 
 ning Mavis Clare, inasmuch as she belongs to God. You 
 know what Milton says : 
 
 ' So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity 
 That when a soul is found sincerely so, 
 A thousand liveried angels lacquey her, 
 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 
 And in clear dream and solemn vision 
 Tell her of things which no gross ear can hear, 
 Till oft converse with heavenly habitants 
 Begin to cast a beam on th'outward shape 
 The unpolluted temple of the mind, 
 And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence 
 Till all be made immortal 1" 
 
 He quoted the lines softly and with an exquisite gravity. 
 
 "That is what you see in Mavis Clare," he continued — 
 " that ' beam on the outward shape' which ' turns it by degrees 
 to the soul's essence,' — and which makes her beautiful without 
 what is called beauty by lustful men. ' ' 
 
376 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 I moved impatiently, and looked out from the window near 
 which we were seated, at the yellow width of the flowing 
 Thames below. 
 
 "Beauty, according to man's ordinary standard," pursued 
 Lucio, " means simply good flesh, — nothing more. Flesh, 
 arranged prettily and roundly on the always ugly skeleton be- 
 neath, — flesh, daintily coloured and soft to the touch without 
 scar or blemish. P.enty of it too, disposed in the jjroper 
 places. It is the most perishable sort of commodity, — an ill- 
 ness spoils it, — a trying c imate ruins it, — age wrinkles it, — 
 death destroys it, — but it is all the majority of men look for 
 in their bargains with the fair sex. The most utter ro/ie of 
 sixty that ever trotted jauntily down Piccadilly pretending to 
 be thirty, expects like Shylock his ' pound' or several pounds 
 of youthful flesh. The desire is neither refined nor intellec- 
 tual, but there it is, — and it is solely on this account that the 
 Madies' of the music-hall become the tainted members and 
 future mothers of the aristocracy." 
 
 *' It does not need the ladies of the music-hall to taint the 
 already tainted !" I said. 
 
 *' True !" and he looked at me wnth kindly commiseration. 
 " Let us put the whole misch'ef down to the ' new' fiction !" 
 
 We rose then, having finished luncheon, and leaving the 
 Savoy we went on to Arthur's. Here we sat down in a quiet 
 corner and began to talk of our future p'ans. It took me very 
 little time to make up my mind, — all quarters of the world 
 were the same to me, and I was really indifferent as to where 
 I went. Yet there is always something suggestive and fasci- 
 nating about the idea of a first visit to Egypt, and I willingly 
 agreed to accompany Lucio thither and remain the winter. 
 
 *' We will avoid society," he said. " The well-bred, well- 
 educated ' swagger' people who throw champagne-bottles at 
 the Sphinx, and think a donkey-race 'ripping fun' shall not 
 have the honour of our company. Cairo is full of such 
 dancing dolls, so we will not stay there. Old Nile has many 
 attractions ; and lazy luxury on a dahabeah will soothe }Our 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 377 
 
 overwrought nerves. I suggest our leaving England within a 
 week." 
 
 1 consented, — and while he went over to a table and wrote 
 some letters in preparation for our journey, I looked through 
 the day's papers. There was nothing to read in them, — for 
 though all the world's news palpitates into Gieat Britain on 
 obediently throbbing electric wires, each editor of each little 
 pennyworth, being jealous of every other editor of every other 
 pennyworth, only admits into his columns exactly what suits 
 his politics or personally pleases his taste, and the interests 
 of the public at large are scarcely considered. Poor, bam- 
 boozled, patient public ! — no wonder it is beginning to think 
 that a halfpenny spent on a newspaper which is only pur- 
 chased 10 be thrown away, enough and more than enough. 
 I was still glancing up and down the heavy columns of the 
 Americanized "Pall Mall Gazette," and Lucio was still 
 writing, when a page-boy entered with a telegram. 
 
 "Mr Tempest?" 
 
 "Yes." And I snatched the yellow-covered missive and 
 tore it open, — and read the few words it contained almost 
 uncomprehendingly. They ran thus — 
 
 " Relurn at once. Something alarming has happened. 
 Afraid to act without you. Mavis Clare." 
 
 A curious chill came over me, — the telegram fell from my 
 hands on the table. Lucio took it up and glanced at it. 
 Then, regarding me stedfastly, he said — 
 
 "Of course you must go. You can catch the four-forty 
 train if you take a hansom." 
 
 "And you?" I muttered. My throat was dry and I could 
 scarcely speak. 
 
 "I'll stay at the Grand, and wait for news. Don't delay 
 a moment,— Miss Clare would not have taken it upon herself 
 to send this message, unless there had been serious cause." 
 
 "What do you think — what do you suppose " I began. 
 
 He stopped me by a slight imperative gesture. 
 
 32* 
 
378 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ** I think nothing — 1 suppose nothing. I only urge you to 
 start immediately. Come!" 
 
 And almost before I realized it, he had taken me with him 
 out into the hall of the club, where he helped me on with my 
 coat, gave me my hat, and sent for a cab to take me to the 
 railway station. We scarcely exchanged farewells, — stupefied 
 with the suddenness of the unexpected summons back to the 
 home I had left in the morning, as I thought, for ever, I 
 hardly knew what I was doing or where I was going, till I 
 found myself alone in the train, returning to Warwickshire as 
 fast as steam would bear me, with the gloom of the deepen- 
 ing dusk around me, and such a fear and horror at my heart 
 as I dared not think of or define. What was the ' something 
 alarming' that had happened ? How was it that Mavis Clare 
 had telegraphed lo me? These, and endless o.her questions 
 tormented my brain, — and I was afraid to suggest answers to 
 any of them. When I arrived at the familiar station, there 
 was no one waiting to receive me, so I hired a fly, and was 
 driven up to my own house just as the short evening deepened 
 into night. A low autumnal wind was sighing restlessly among 
 the trees like a wandering soul in torment, — not a star shone 
 in the black depths of the sky. Directly the carriage stopped, 
 a slim figure in white came out under the porch to meet me, — 
 it was Mavis, her angel's face grave and pale with emotion. 
 
 *' It is you at last !" she said in a trembling voice. " Thank 
 God you have come !" 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 I GRASPED her hands hard. 
 
 ''What is it?" I began; — then, looking round I saw that 
 the hall was full of panic-stricken servants, some of whom 
 came forward, confusedly murmuring together about being 
 'afraid' and 'not knowing what to do.' I motioned them 
 back by a gesture and turned again to Mavis Clare. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 379 
 
 " Tell me, — quick — what is wrong?" 
 
 "We fear something has hapi)ened to Lady Sibyl," she 
 replied at once. " Her rooms are locked, and we cannot 
 make her hear. Her maid got alarmed, and ran over to my 
 house to ask me what was best to be done, — I came at once, 
 and knocked and called, but could get no response. You 
 know the windows are too high to reach from the ground, — 
 there is no ladder on the premises long enough for the purpose, 
 and no one can climb up that side of the building. I begged 
 some of the servants to break open the door by force, — but 
 they would not, — they were all afraid; and I did not like to 
 act on my own responsibility, so I telegraphed for you " 
 
 I sprang away from her before she had finished speaking 
 and hurried upstairs at once, — outside the door of the ante- 
 room which led into my wife's luxurious ' suite' of apartments, 
 I paused breathless. 
 
 ''Sibyl !" I cried. 
 
 There was not a sound. Mavis had followed me, and stood 
 by my side trembling a little. Two or three of the servants 
 had also crept up the stairs, and were clinging to the banisters, 
 listening nervously. 
 
 "Sibyl !" I called again. Still absolute silence. I turned 
 round upon the waiting and anxious domestics with an assump- 
 tion of calmness. 
 
 '•Lady Sibyl is probably not in her rooms at all," I said. 
 " She may have gone out unobserved. This door of the ante- 
 chamber has a spring-lock, — it can easily get fast shut by the 
 merest accident. Bring a strong hammer, — or a crowbar, — 
 anything that will break it open, — if you had had sense you 
 would have obeyed Miss Clare, and done this a couple of 
 hours ago." 
 
 And I waited with enforced composure, while my instruc- 
 tions 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 
 
38o THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 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 debris, 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 r^ot find it. My hand came in contact with various 
 familiar things which I lecognised by touch, — rare bits of 
 china, bronzes, vases, pictures, — costly trifles that were 
 heaped up, as I knew, m 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 /^r//(?;r, and 
 knew by this that 1 had passed from the boudoir into the ad- 
 joining 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 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 381 
 
 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 recognise 
 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 en- 
 throned, — 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 compre- 
 hended all. Falling on her knees by the dead woman she 
 broke into a passion of weeping. 
 
3^2 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 "Oh, poor girl!" she cried — '* Oh, poor, unhappy, mis- 
 guided 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 im- 
 pulse rose in me stronger than myself, moving me lo wild and 
 clamorous speech. 
 
 " Get up. Mavis !" I cried. " Do not kneel there ! Go, — 
 go out of this room, — out of my sight ! You do not know 
 what she was — this woman whom I married, — I deemed her 
 an angel, but she was a fiend, — yes, Mavis, a fiend ! Look at 
 her staring at her own image in the glass, — you cannot call 
 her beautiful — 7iow / She smiles, you see, — just as she smiled 
 last night when, . . . ah, you know nothing of last night ! 
 I tell you, go!" and I stamped my foot almost furiously. 
 *' This air is contaminated, — it will poison you ! The per- 
 fume of Paris and the effluvia of death intermingled are suffi- 
 cient to breed a pestilence ! Go quickly, — inform the house- 
 hold their mistress is dead, — have the blinds drawn down, — 
 show all the exterior signs of decent and fashionable woe," — 
 and 1 began laughing deliriously. **Tell the servants they 
 may count upon expensive mourning, — for all that money can 
 do shall be done in homage to King Death ! Let everyone 
 in the place eat and drink as much as they can or will, — and 
 sleep, or chatter as such menials love to do, of hearses, graves 
 and sudden disasters ; — but let ;;/<? be left alone, — alone with 
 /ler ; — we have much to say to one another !" 
 
 White and trembling, Mavis rose up and stood gazing at 
 me in fear and pity. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 383 
 
 '* Alone?" she faltered. " You are not fit to be alone." 
 
 ** No, I am not fit to be, but I must be," I rejoined 
 quickly and harshly. ^' This woman and I loved — after the 
 manner of brutes, and were wedded or rather mated in a 
 similar manner, though an archbishop blessed the pairing 
 and called upon Heaven to witness its sanctity ! Yet we 
 parted ill friends, — and dead though she is, I choose to pass 
 the night with her, — I shall learn much knowledge from her 
 silence. Tomorrow the grave and the servants of the grave 
 may claim her, but to-night she is mine." 
 
 The girl's sweet eyes brimmed over with tears. 
 
 '* Oh, you are too distracted to know what you are saying," 
 she murmured. ''You do not even try to discover how she 
 died!" 
 
 "That is easy enough to guess," I answered quickly, and 
 I took up a small dark-coloured bottle labelled ' Poison' that 
 I had already perceived on the toilet-table. *' This is uncorked 
 and empty. What it contained I do not know, — but there 
 must be an inquest of course, — people must be allow^ed to 
 make money for themselves out of her ladyship's rash act. And 
 see there — " here I pointed to some loose sheets of note-paper 
 covered with writing, and partially concealed by a filmy lace 
 handkerchief which had evidently been hastily thrown across 
 them, and a pen and inkstand close by. " There is some 
 admirable reading prepared for me doubtless ! — the last mes- 
 sage from the beloved dead is sacred, Mavis Clare ; surely you, 
 a writer of tender romances can realize this ! — and realizing 
 it, you will do as I ask you, — leave me !" 
 
 She looked at me in deep compassion, and slowly turned 
 to go. 
 
 *'God help you!" she said sobbingly. "God console 
 you !" 
 
 At this some demon in me broke loose, and springing to her 
 side I caught her hands in mine. 
 
 "Do not dare to talk of God!" I said in passionate ac- 
 cents. "Not in this room, — not in that presence. Why 
 
384 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 should you call curses down upon me ? The help of God 
 means punishment,— the consolations of God are terrible ! 
 For strength must acknowledge itself weak before He will help 
 it, — and a heart must be broken before He will console it. 
 But what do I say ! — I believe in jio God ! I believe in an 
 unknown Force that encomjDasses me and hunts me down to 
 the grave, but nothing more I ^7/^ thought as I do, — and with 
 reason, — for what has God done for her? She was made evil 
 from the first, — a born snare of Satan ..." 
 
 Something caught my breath here — I stopped, unable to 
 utter another word. Mavis stared at me affrighted, and I 
 stared back again. 
 
 ''What is it?" she whispered alarmingly. I struggled to 
 speak, — finally, with difficulty I answered her — 
 
 *' Nothing !" 
 
 And I motioned her away with a gesture of entreaty. The 
 expression of my face must have startled or intimidated her I 
 fancy, for she retreated hastily and I watched her disappearing 
 as if she were the phantom of a dream, — then, as she passed 
 out through the boudoir I drew close the velvet portiere be- 
 hind her and locked the intermediate door. This done I 
 went slowly back to the side of my dead wife. 
 
 '*Now, Sibyl," I said aloud, '' we are alone, you and I — 
 alone with our own reflected images, — you dead, and I living. 
 You have no terrors for me in your present condition, — your 
 beauty has gone. Your smile, your eyes, your touch cannot 
 stir me to a throb of the passion you craved, yet wearied of. 
 What have you to say to me ? — I have heard that the dead 
 can speak at times, — and you owe me reparation, — reparation 
 for the wrong you did me, — the lie on which you based our 
 marriage, — the guilt you cherished in your heart. Shall I 
 read your petition for forgiveness here?" 
 
 And I gathered up the written sheets of note-paper in one 
 hand, feeling them rather than seeing them, for my eyes were 
 fixed on the pallid corpse in its ro e-silk ' negligee' and jewels, 
 that gazed at itself so pertinaciously in the shining mirror. I 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 385 
 
 drew a chair close to it, and sat down, observing likewise the 
 reflection of my own haggard face in the glass beside tliat of 
 the self-murdered woman. Turning presently, I began to scru- 
 tinize my immovable companion more closely — and perceived 
 that she was very lightly clothed, — under the silk peignoir 
 there was only a flowing white garment of soft fine material 
 lavishly embroidered, through which the statuesque contour 
 of her rigid limbs could be distinctly seen. Stooping, I felt 
 her heart, — I knew it was pulseless ; yet I half imagined I 
 should feel its beat. As I withdrew my hand, something 
 scaly and glistening caught my eye, and looking I lerceived 
 Lucio's marriage-gift circling her waist, — the flexible emerald 
 snake with its diamond crest and ruby eyes. It fascinated 
 me, — coiled round that dead body it seemed alive and sen- 
 tient, — if it had lifted its glittering head and hissed at me I 
 should scarcely have been surprised. I sat back for a moment 
 in my chair, almost as rigid as the corpse beside me, — I stared 
 again, as ihe corpse stared always, into the mirror which pic- 
 tured us both, we 'twain in one,' as the sentimxCntalists aver 
 of wedded folk, though in truth it often happens that there 
 are no tw^o creatures in the world more widely separated than 
 husband and wife. I heard stealthy movements and sup- 
 pressed whisperings in the passage outside, and guessed that 
 some of the servants were there watching and waiting, — but I 
 cared nothing for that. I was absorbed in the ghastly night 
 interview I had planned for myself, and I so entered into the 
 spirit of the thing that I turned on all the electric lamps in 
 the room, besides lighting two tall clusters of shaded candles 
 on either side of the toilet-table. When all the surroundings 
 were thus rendered as brilliant as possible, so that the corpse 
 looked more livid and ghastly by comparison, I seated myself 
 once more, and prepared to read the last message of the dead. 
 ''Now Sibyl," I muttered, leaning forward a little, and 
 noting with a morbid interest that the jaws of the corpse had 
 relaxed a little within the last few minutes, and that the smile 
 on the face was therefore more hideous, "confess your sins. 
 
386 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 — for I am here to listen. Such dumb, impressive eloquence 
 as yours deserves attention !" 
 
 A gust of wind fled round the house with a wailing cry, — 
 the windows shook, and the candles flickered. I waited till 
 every sound had died away, and then — with a glance at my 
 dead wife, under the sudden impression that she had heard 
 what I said and knew what I was doing, I began lo read. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Thus ran the ' last document, ' commencing abruptly and 
 without prefix : 
 
 ''I have made up my mind to die. Not out of passion 
 or petulance, — but from deliberate choice, and, as I think, 
 necessity. My brain is tired of problems, — my body is tired 
 of life; it is best to make an end. The idea of death, — 
 which means annihilation, — is very sweet to me. I am glad 
 to feel that by my own will and act I can silence this uneasy 
 throbbing of my heart, this turmoil and heat of my blood, — 
 this tortured aching of my nerves. Young as I am, I have 
 no delight now in existence, — I see nothing but my love's 
 luminous eyes, his god-like features, his enthralling smile, — 
 and these are lost to me. For a brief while he has been my 
 world, life and time, — he has gone, — and without him there 
 is no universe. How could I endure the slow, wretched, 
 passing of hours, days, weeks, months and years alone ? — 
 though it is better to be alone than in the dull companion- 
 ship of the self-satisfied, complacent and arrogant fool who 
 is my husband. He has left me for ever, so he says in a 
 letter the maid brought to me an hour ago. It is quite 
 what I expected of him, — what man of his type could find 
 jjardon for a blow to his own ajtiour propre I If he had 
 studied my nature, entered into my emotions, or striven in the 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 387 
 
 least to guide and sustain me, — if he had shown me any sign 
 of a great, true love such as one sometimes dreams of and 
 seldom finds, — I think I should be sorry for him now, — 1 
 should even ask his forgiveness for having married him. But 
 he has treated me precisely as he might treat a paid mistress, 
 — that is, he has fed me, clothed me, and provided me with 
 money and jewels in return for making me the toy of his 
 passions, — but he has not given me one touch of sympathy — 
 one proof of self-denial or humane forbearance. Therefore, 
 I owe him nothing. And now he, and my love who will not 
 be my lover, have gone away together ; I am free to do as I 
 will with this small pulse within me called life, which is after 
 all, only a thread, easily broken. There is no one to say me 
 nay, or to hold my hand back from giving myself the final 
 quietus. It is well I have no friends ; it is good for me that I 
 have probed the hypocrisy and social sham of the world, and 
 that I have mastered the following hard truths of life,— that 
 there is no love without lust, — no friendship without self- 
 interest, — no religion without avarice, — and no so-called virtue 
 without its accompanying stronger vice. Who, knowing these 
 things, would care to take part in them ! On the verge of 
 the grave I look back along the short vista of my years, and 
 I see myself a child in this very place, this wooded Willows- 
 mere ; I can note how that life began to which I am about to 
 put an end. Pampered, petted and spoilt, told that I must 
 ' look pretty' and take pleasure in my clothes, I was even at 
 the age of ten, capable of a certain amount of coquetry. Old 
 7'oues, smelling of wine and tobacco, were eager to take me on 
 their knees and pinch my soft flesh ; — they would press my 
 innocent lips with their withered ones, — withered and con- 
 taminated by the kisses of cocottcs and ' soiled doves' of the 
 town ! — I have often wondered how it is these men can dare 
 to touch a young child's mouth, knowing in themselves what 
 beasts they are! I see my nurse,— a trained liar and time- 
 server, giving herself more airs than a queen, and forbidding 
 me to speak to this child or that child, because they were 
 
388 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 'beneath' mc ; — then came my governess, full of a prurient 
 prudery, as bad a woman in morals as ever lived, yet ' highly 
 recommended' and with excellent references, and wearing an 
 assumption of the strictest virtue, like many equally * loose' 
 clergymen's wives I have known. I soon found her out, — for 
 even as a child I was painfully observant, — and the stories she 
 and my mother's French maid used to tell, in lowered voices 
 now and then broken by coarse laughter, were sufficient to 
 enlighten me as to her true character. Yet, beyond having 
 a supreme contempt for the woman who practised religious 
 austerity outwardly and was at heart a rake, I gave small con- 
 sideration to the difficult problem such a nature suggested. 
 I lived, — how strange it seems that I should be writing now 
 of myself, as past and done with ! — yes, I lived in a dreamy, 
 more or less idyllic state of mind, thinking without being con- 
 scious of thought, full of fancies concerning the flowers, trees 
 and birds, — wishing for things of which I knew nothing, — 
 imagining myself a queen at times, and again, a peasant. I 
 was an omnivorous reader, — and I was specially fond of poetry. 
 I used to pore over the mystic verse of Shelley, and judged 
 him then as a sort of demi-god ; — and never, even when I 
 knew all about his life, could I realize him as a man with a 
 thin, shrieking falsetto voice and ' loose' notions concerning 
 women. But I am quite sure it was good for his fame that he 
 was drowned in early youth with so many melancholy and 
 dramatic surroundings, — it saved him, I consider, from a 
 possibly vicious and repulsive old age. I adored Keats till I 
 knew he had wasted his passion on a Fanny Brawn, — and then 
 the glamour of him vanished. I can offer no reason for this, 
 — I merely set down the fact. I made a hero of Lord Byron, 
 — in fact he has always formed for me the only heroical type 
 of poet. Strong in himself and pitiless in his love for women, 
 he treated them for the most part as they merited, considering 
 the singular and unworthy specimens of the sex it was his mis- 
 fortune to encounter. I used to wonder, when reading these 
 men's amorous lines, whether love would ever come my way, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 3S9 
 
 and what beatific state of emotion I should then enjoy. Then 
 came the rough awakening from all my dreams, — childhood 
 melted into womanhood, — and at sixteen 1 was taken up to 
 town with my parents to ' know something of the ways and 
 manners of society' before finally 'coming out.' Oh, those 
 ways and manners ! I learnt them to perfection ! Astonished 
 at first, then bewildered, and allowed no time to form any judg- 
 ment on what I saw, I w^as hurried through a general vague 
 * impression' of things such as I had never imagined or dreamed 
 of. While I was yet lost in wonderment, and kept constantly 
 in companionship with young girls of my own rank and age, 
 who nevertheless seemed much more advanced in knowledge 
 of the world than I, my father suddenly informed me that 
 Willowsmere was lost to us, — that he could not afford to keep 
 it up, — and that we should return there no more Ah, what 
 tears I shed ! — what a fury of grief consumed me ! — I did not 
 then comprehend the difficult entanglements of either wealth 
 or poverty ; — all I could realize was that the doors of my dear 
 old home were closed upon me for ever. After that, I think 
 I grew cold and hard in disposition ; I had never loved my 
 mother very dearly, — in fact I had seen very little of her, as 
 she was always aw^ay visiting, if not entertaining visitors, and 
 she seldom had me with her, — so that when she was suddenly 
 struck down by a first shock of paralysis, it affected me but 
 little. She had her doctors and nurses, — I had my governess 
 still with me, and my mother's sister. Aunt Charlotte, came to 
 keep house for us, — so I began to analyze society for myself, 
 without giving any expression oi my opinions on what I ob- 
 served. I was not yet ' out,' but I went everywhere where 
 girls of my age were invited, and perceived things without 
 showing that I had any faculty of perception. I cultivated a 
 passionless and cold exterior, — a listle.^s, uninterested and 
 frigid demeanour, — for I discovered that this was accepted by 
 many people as dullness or stupidity, and that by assuming 
 such a character, certain otherwise crafty persons would talk 
 more readily before me, and betray themselves and their vices 
 
 3r 
 
390 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 unawares. Thus my ' social education' began in grim earnest ; 
 — women of title and renown would ask me to their * quiet 
 teas,' because I was what they were pleased to call a * harm- 
 less girl,' — * rather pretty, but dull,' — and allow me to assist 
 them in entertaining the lovers who called upon them while 
 their husbands were out. I remember on one occasion, a 
 great lady famous for two things, her diamonds ai)d her in- 
 timacy with the Queen, kissed her ' cavaliere servente,' a 
 noted sporting earl, with considerable abandon in my presence. 
 He muttered something about me, — I heard it ; — but his 
 amorous mistress merely answered in a whisper — * Oh, it's 
 only Sibyl Elton,, — she understands nothing.' Afterwards 
 hosvever, when he had gone, she turned to me with a grin 
 and remarked — * You saw me kiss Bertie, didn't you? I 
 often do ; he's quite like my brother!' I made no reply — I 
 only smiled vaguely ; and the next day she sent me a valuable 
 diamond ring, which I at once returned to her with a prim 
 little note, stating that I was much obliged, but that my 
 father considered me too young as yet to wear diamonds. 
 Why do I think of these trifles now I wonder ! — now when I 
 am about to take my leave of life and all its lies ! . . . There 
 is a little bird singing outside my bedroom window, — such a 
 pretty creature. I suppose it is happy ? — it should be, as it is 
 not human. . . . The tears are in my eyes as I listen to its 
 .sweet warbling, and think that it will be living and singing 
 still to-day at sunset when I am dead ! 
 
 That last sentence was mere sentiment, for I am not sorry 
 to die. If I felt the least regret about it I should not carry 
 out my intention. I must resume my narrative, — for it is an 
 analysis I am trying to make of myself, to find out if I can 
 whether there are no excuses to be found for my particular 
 disposition, — whether it is not after all the education and 
 training I have had that have made me what I am, or whether 
 indeed I was born evil from the first. The circumstances 
 that surrounded me did not, at any rate, tend to soften or 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 391 
 
 improve my character. I had just passed my seventeenth 
 birthday, when one morning my father called me into his 
 library and told me the true position of his affairs. I learned 
 that he was crippled on all sides with debt, — that he lived on 
 advances made to him by Jew usurers, — and that these ad- 
 vances were trusted to him solely on the speculation that I, 
 his only daughter, would make a sufficiently rich marriage to 
 enable him to repay all loans with heavy interest. He went on 
 to say that he hoped I would act sensibly, — and that when 
 any men showed indications of becoming suitors for my hand, 
 I would, before encouraging them, inform him, in order that 
 he might make sirict enquiries as to their actual extent of for- 
 time. I then understood, for the first time, that I was for 
 sale. I listened in silence till he had finished, — then I asked 
 him — ' Love, I suppose, is not to be considered in the matter?' 
 He laughed, and assured me it was much easier to love a rich 
 man than a poor one, as I would find out after a little ex- 
 1-erience. He added, with some hesitation, that to help make 
 both ends meet, as the expenses of town life were consider- 
 able, he had arranged to take a young American lady under 
 his charge, a Miss Diana Chesney, who wished to be intro- 
 duced into English society, and who would pay two thousand 
 guineas a year to him for that privilege, and for Aunt Char- 
 lotte's services as chaperon. I do not remember now what 
 I said to him when I heard this, — [ knoN\ that my long 
 suppressed feelings broke out in a storm of fury, and that for 
 the moment he was completely taken aback by the force of my 
 indignation. An American boarder in our house ! — it seemed 
 to me as outrageous and undignified as the conduct of a 
 woman I once knew, who, favoured by the Queen's patronage 
 with ' free' apartments in Kensington Palace, took from time 
 to time on the sly, an American or Colonial ' paying-guest,' 
 who adopted forthwith the address of Her Majesty's birthplace 
 as her own, thus lowering the whole prestige of that historic 
 habitation. My wrath however was useless ; — the bargain 
 was arranged, — my father, regardless of his proud lineage and 
 
392 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 the social dignity of his position, had degraded himself, in 
 my opinion, to the level of a sort of superior lodging-house 
 keeper, — and from that time I lost all my former respect for 
 him. Of course it can be argued that I was wrong, — that I 
 ought to have honoured him for turning his name to monetary 
 account by loaning it out as a protective shield and panoply 
 for an American woman without anything but the dollars of a 
 vulgar * railway-king' to back her up in society, — but I could 
 not see it in that light. I retreated into myself more than 
 ever, — and became more than pleasantly known for my cold- 
 ness, reserve and hauteur. Miss Chesney came, and strove 
 hard to be my friend, — but she soon found that impossible. 
 She is a good-hearted creature I believe, — but she is badly 
 bred and badly trained, as all her compatriots are, more or less, 
 despite their smattering of an European education. I disliked 
 her from the first, and have spared no pains to show it. Yet I 
 know she will be Countess of Elton as soon as it is decently 
 possible, — say, after the year's ceremonious mourning for my 
 mother has expired, and perhaps three months' hypocritical 
 wearing of black for me, — my father believes himself to be 
 still young and passably good-looking, and he is quite inca- 
 pable of resisting the fortune she will bring him. When she 
 took up her fixed abode in our house, and Aunt Charlotte 
 became her paid chaperon, I seldom went out to any social 
 gatherings, for I could not endure the idea of being seen in 
 her companionship. I kept to my own room a great deal, and 
 thus secluded, read many books. All the fashionable fiction 
 of the day passed through my hands, much to my gradual 
 enlightenment, if not to my edification. One day, — a day 
 that is stamped on my memory as a kind of turning-point in 
 my life, — I read a novel by a woman which I did not at first 
 entirely understand, — but on going over some of its passages a 
 second time, all at once its horrible lasciviousness flashed upon 
 me and filled me with such a genuine disgust that I flung it on 
 the ground in a fit of loathing and contempt. Yet I had seen 
 it praised in all the leading journals of the day ; its obscenities 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 393 
 
 were hinted as 'daring,' — its vulgarities were quoted as 'bril- 
 liant wit,' — in fact so many laudatory columns were written 
 about it in the press that I resolved to read it again. Encour- 
 aged by the ' literary censors' of the time, 1 did so, and little by 
 little the insidious abomination of it filtered into my mind and 
 sfave(^ thej-e. I began to think about it,— and by and-by 
 found pleasure in thinking about it. I sent for other books by 
 the same tainted hand, and my appetite for that kind of pru- 
 rient romance grew keener. At this particular juncture, as 
 chance or fate would have it, an acquaintance of mine, the 
 daughter of a Marchioness, a girl with large black eyes and 
 those full protruding lips which remind one unconsciously of 
 a swine's snout, brought me two or three odd volumes of the 
 poems of Swinburne. Always devoted to poetry, and consid- 
 ering it to be the higliest of the arts, and up to that period 
 having been ignorant of this writer's work, I turned over the 
 books with eagerness, expecting to enjoy the usual sublime 
 emotions which it is the privilege and glory of the poet to 
 inspire in mortals less d.vinely endowed than himself, and 
 who turn to him 
 
 " for help to climb 
 Beyond the highest peaks of time." 
 
 Now I should like, if I could do so, to explain clearly the 
 effect of this satyr-songster upon my mind, — for I believe 
 there are many women to whom his works have been deadlier 
 than the deadliest p )ison, and far more soul-corrupting than 
 any book of Zola's or the most pernicious of modern French 
 writers. At first I read the poems quickly, with a certain 
 pleasure in the mere swing and jangle of rhythm, and without 
 paying much attention to the subject-matter of the verse, — 
 but presently, as though a lurid blaze of lightning had stripped 
 a fair tree of its adorning leaves, my senses suddenly perceived 
 the cruelty and fiendish sensuality concealed under the or- 
 nate language and persuasive rhymes, — and for a moment I 
 paused in my reading, and closed my eyes, shuddering and 
 sick at heart. Was human nature as base and abandoned 
 
394 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 as this man declared it to be? Was there no God but 
 Lust? Were men and women lower and more depraved in 
 their passions and appetites than the very beasts? I mused 
 and dreamed, — I pored over the ' l.aus A'eneris' — ' Faus- 
 tine' and 'Anactoria,' till 1 felt myself being dragged down 
 to the brute level of the mind that conceived such out- 
 rages to decency. I drank in Swinburne's own fiendish con- 
 tempt of God, and 1 read over and over again his verses 
 ' Before a Crucifix' till I knew them by heart ; — till they rang 
 in my brain as persistently as any nursery jingle, and drove 
 my thoughts into as haughty a scorn of Christ and His teach- 
 ings as any unbelieving Jew. It is nothing to me now, — 
 now, when without hope or faith or love, I am about to take 
 the final plunge into eternal darkness and silence, — but for 
 the sake of those who have the comfort of a religion, I ask, 
 why, in a so-called Christian country, is such a hideous blas- 
 phemy as ' Before a Crucifix' allowed to circulate among the 
 people without so much as one reproof from those who elect 
 themselves judges of literature ? I have seen many noble 
 writers condemned unheard, — many have been accused of 
 blasphemy, whose works tend quite the other way, — but these 
 lines are permitted to work their cruel mischief unchecked, and 
 the writer of them is glorified as though he were a benefactor 
 to mankind instead of a corrupter. I quote them here, from 
 bitter memory, that I may not be deemed as exaggerating their 
 nature — 
 
 " So when our souls look back to thee, 
 They sicken, seeing against thy side. 
 
 Too foul to speak of or to see. 
 The leprous likeness of a bride, 
 
 Whose kissing lips through his lips grown 
 
 Leave their God rotten, to the bouc. 
 
 When we would sec thee man, and know 
 What heart thou had'st towards man indeed, 
 
 Lo, thy blood-blackened altars ; lo, 
 The lips of priests that pray and feed. 
 
 While their own hell' s worm curls and licks 
 
 The poison of the crucifix. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 395 
 
 Thou bad'st the children come to thee, — 
 
 IV/ujf children now but curses come. 
 What manhood in that God can be 
 
 Who sees their worship and is dumb? — 
 No soul that lived, loved, wrought, and died 
 Is this, their Carrion Crucified / 
 
 Nay, if their God and thou be one, 
 
 If thou and this thing be the same, 
 Thou should'st not look upon the sun, 
 
 The sun grows haggard at thy name ; 
 Come down, be done with, cease, give o'er, 
 Hide thyself, strive not, be no more." 
 
 From the time of reading this, I used to think of Christ as 
 * carrion crucified' ; — if I ever thought at all. I found out 
 that no one had ever reproached Mr Swinburne for this term, 
 — that it did not interfere with his chances for the Laureate- 
 ship, — and that not even a priest of the church had been bold- 
 spoken or zealous enough in his Master's cause to publicly 
 resent the shameless outrage. So I concluded that Swinburne 
 must be right in his opinions, and I followed tlie lazy and 
 unthinking course of social movement, spending my days 
 with such literature as stored my brain with a complete knowl- 
 edge of things evil and pernicious. Whatever soul I had in 
 me was killed ; the freshness of my mind was gone, — Swin- 
 burne, among others, had helped me to live mentally, if not 
 physically, through such a phase of vice as had poisoned my 
 thoughts for ever. I understand there is some vague law in 
 existence about placing an interdiction on certain books con- 
 sidered injurious to public morals, — if there is such a rule, it 
 has been curiously lax concerning the author of ' Anactoria' — 
 who, by virtue of being a poet, passes unquestioned into many 
 a home, carrying pollution into minds that were once cleanly 
 and simple. As for me, after I had studied his verse to my 
 heart's content, nothing remained sacred. — I judged men as 
 beasts and women as little better, — I had no belief in honour, 
 virtue or truth, — and I was absolutely indifferent to all things 
 save one, and that was my resolve to have my own wa}' as far 
 
396 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 as love was concerned. I might be forced to marry without 
 love for purely money-considerations, — but all the same, love 
 I would have, or what I called love; — not an ' ideal' passion by 
 any means, but precisely what Mr Swinburne and a few of the 
 most-praised novelists of the day had taught me to consider 
 as love. I began to wonder when and how I should meet my 
 lover, — such thoughts as I had at this time indeed would have 
 made moralists stare and uplift their hands in horror, — but to 
 the exterior world I was the very pink and pattern of maidenly 
 decorum, reserve and pride. Men desired, but feared me ; 
 for I never gave them any encouragement, seeing as yet none 
 among them whom I deemed worthy of such love as I could 
 give. The majority resembled carefully trained baboons, — 
 respectably clothed and artistically shaven, — but nevertheless 
 all with the spasmodic grin, the leering eye and the uncouth 
 gestures of the hairy woodland monster. When I was just 
 eighteen I ' came out' in earnest, — that is, I was presented at 
 Court with all the foolish and farcical pomp practised on such 
 occasions. I was told before going that it was a great and 
 necessary thing to be ' presented,' — that it was a guarantee of 
 position and above all of reputation, — the Queen received none 
 whose conduct was not rigidly correct and virtuous. What 
 humbug it all was ! — I laughed then, and I can smile now to 
 think of it, — why, the very woman who presented me had two 
 illegitimate sons, unknown to her lawful husband, and she 
 was not the only playful sinner in the Court comedy ! Some 
 women were there that day whom since even / would not 
 receive — so openly infamous are their lives and characters, 
 yet they make their demure curtseys before the Throne at 
 stated times and assume to be the very patterns of virtue and 
 austerity. Now and then, it chances in the case of an exceed- 
 ingly beautiful woman of whom all the others are jealous, that 
 for her little slips she is selected as an ' example' and excluded 
 from Court, while her plainer sisters, though sinning seventy 
 times seven against all the laws of decency and morality, are 
 still received, — but otherwise, there is very little real care 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 397 
 
 exercised as to the character and prestige of the women whom 
 the Queen receives. If any one of them is refused, it is 
 certain she adds to her social enormities the greater crime of 
 being beautiful, otherwise there would be no one to whisper 
 away her reputation. I was what is ( ailed a ' success' on 
 my presentation day. That is, I was stared at, and openly 
 flattered by certain members of my sex who were too old and 
 ugly to be jealous, and treated with insolent contempt by 
 those who were young enough to be my rivals. There was 
 a great crush to get into the Throne Room ; and some of 
 the ladies used rather strong language. One duchess, just in 
 front of me, said to her companion — ' Do as I do, — kick 
 out ! Bruise their shins for them — as hard as you can, — we 
 shall get on faster then ! ' This choice remark was accom- 
 panied by the grin of a fishwife and the stare of a drab. 
 Yet it was a ' great' lady who spoke, — not a Transatlantic 
 importation, but a woman of distinguished lineage and con- 
 nection. Her observation, however, was only one out of 
 many similar speeches which I heard on all sides of me during 
 the 'distinguished' melee, — a thoroughly ill-mannered 'crush,' 
 which struck me as supremely vulgar and totally unfitting 
 the dignity of our Sovereign's court. When I curtsied before 
 the Throne at last, and saw the majesty of the Empire repre- 
 sented by a kindly faced old lady, looking very tired and 
 bored, whose hand was as cold as ice when I kissed it, I was 
 conscious of an intense feeling of pity for her in her high 
 estate. Who would be a Monarch to be doomed to the per- 
 petual receiving of a company of fools ! I got through my 
 duties quickly, and returned home more or less wearied out 
 and disgusted with the whole ceremony, — and next day I 
 found that my ' debut' had given me the position of a ' leading 
 beauty' ; or in other words that I was now formally put up 
 for sale. That is really what is meant by being * presented' 
 and ' coming out,' — these are the fancy terms of one's parental 
 auctioneer. My life was now passed in dressing, having my 
 photograph taken, giving ' sittings' to aspiring fashionable 
 
 34 
 
398 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 painters, and being * inspected' by men with a view to matri- 
 mony. It was distinctly understood in society that I was not 
 to be sold under a certain figure per annum, — and the price 
 was too high for most would-be purchasers. How sick I grew 
 of my constant exhibition in the marriage-market ! What con- 
 tempt and hatred was fostered in me for the mean and pitiable 
 hypocrisies of my set ! I was not long in discovering that 
 money was the chief motive power of all social success, — that 
 the proudest and highest personages in the world could be 
 easily gathered together under the roof of any vulgar plebeian 
 who happened to have enough cash to feed and entertain 
 them. As an example of this, I remember a woman, ugly, 
 passee and squint-eyed, who during her father's life was only 
 allowed about half-a-crown a week as pocket-money up to her 
 fortieth year, — and who, when that father died, leaving her in 
 possession of half his fortune (the other half going to illegiti- 
 mate children of whom she had never heard, he having always 
 posed as a pattern of immaculate virtue), suddenly blossomed 
 out as a ' leader' of fashion, and succeeded, through cautious 
 scheming and ungrudging toadyism, in assembling some of 
 the highest people in the land under her roof. Ugly and 
 passee though she was, and verging towards fifty, with neither 
 grace, wit, nor intelligence, through the power of her cash 
 alone she invited Royal dukes and ' titles' generally to her 
 dinners and dances, — and it is to their shame that they 
 actually accepted her invitations. Such voluntary degrada- 
 tions on the part of really well-connected people I have never 
 been able to understand, — it is not as if they were actually in 
 want of food or amusement, for they have a surfeit of both 
 every season, — and it seems to me that they ought to show a 
 better example than to flock in crowds to the entertainments 
 of a mere uninteresting and ugly nobody just because she 
 happens to have money. I never entered her house myself, 
 though she had the audacity to invite me, — I learned, more- 
 over, that she had promised a friend of mine a hundred 
 guineas if she could persuade me to make one appearance 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ;99 
 
 in her rooms. For my renown as a 'beauty,' combined with 
 my pride and exclusiveness, would have given her parties a 
 prestige greater than even Royalty could bestow, — she knew 
 that and /knew that; and knowing it, never condescended 
 to so much as notice her by a bow. But though I took a 
 certain satisfaction in thus revenging myself on the atrocious 
 vulgarity oi parvenus zxi^ social interlopers, I grew intensely 
 weary of the monotony and emptiness of what fashionable 
 folks call 'amusement,' and presently falling ill of a nervous 
 fever, I was sent down to the seaside for a few weeks' change 
 of air with a young cousin of mine, a girl I rather liked 
 because she was so different to myself. Her name was Eva 
 Maitland — she was but sixteen and extremely delicate — poor 
 little soul ! she died two months before my marriage. She 
 and I, and a maid to attend us, went down to Cromer, — 
 and one day, sitting on the cliffs together, she asked me 
 timidly if I knew an author named Mavis Clare ? I told her 
 no, — whereupon she handed me a book called ' The Wings of 
 Psyche.' 
 
 " Do read it !" she said earnestly. '' It will make you feel 
 so happy ! ' ' 
 
 I laughed. The idea of a modern author writing anything 
 to make one feel happy, seemed to me quite ludicrous, the 
 aim of most of them being to awaken a disgust of life, and a 
 hatred of one's fellow-creatures. However, to please Eva, I 
 read ' The Wings of Psyche,' — and if it did not make me actu- 
 ally happy, it moved me to a great wonder and deep reverence 
 for the woman-writer of such a book. I found out all about 
 her, — that she was young, pretty, of a noble character and un- 
 blemished reputation, and that her only enemies were the 
 press-critics. This last point was so much in her favour with 
 me that I at once bought everything she had ever written, and 
 her works became, as it were, my haven of rest. Her theories 
 of life are strange, poetic, ideal and beautiful, — though I have 
 not been able to accept them or work them out in my own 
 case. I have alwavs felt soothed and comforted for a while in 
 
400 THE SORROWS OF SA'IWN 
 
 the very act of wishing they were true. And the woman is 
 like her books, — strange, poetic, ideal and beautiful, — how 
 odd it is to think that she is within ten minutes' walk of me 
 now ! — I could send for her if I liked, and tell her all,— but 
 she would prevent me carrying out my resolve. She would 
 cling to me woman-like and kiss me, and hold my hands and 
 say, * No, Sibyl, no ! You are not yourself, — you must come 
 to me and rest!' An odd fancy has seized me, ... I will 
 open my window and call her very gently, — she might be in 
 the garden coming here to see me, — and if she hears and 
 answers, who knows ! — why, perhaps my ideas may change, 
 and fate itself may take a different course ! 
 
 Well, I have called her. I have sent her name ' Mavis !' softly 
 out on the sunshine and still air three times, and only a little 
 brown namesake of hers, a thrush, swinging on a branch of fir, 
 answered me with his low autumnal piping. Mavis ! She will 
 not come, — to-day God will not make her His me.-senger. She 
 cannot guess — she does not know this tragedy of my heart, 
 greater and more poignant than all the tragedies of fiction. 
 If she did know me as I am, I wonder what she Avould think 
 of me ! 
 
 Let me go back to the time when love came to me, — love, 
 ardent, passionate, and eternal ! Ah, what wild joy thrilled 
 through me ! what mad ecstasy fired my blood !— what delir- 
 ious dreams possessed my brain ! I saw Lucio, — and it seemed 
 as if the splendid eyes of some great angel had fla-hed a glory 
 in my soul ! With him came his friend, the foil to his beauty, 
 — the arrogant, self-satisfied fool of a millionaire, Geoffrey 
 Tempest, — he who bought me, and who by virtue of his pur- 
 chase, is entitled by law to call himself my husband ..." 
 
 Here I paused in my reading and looked up. The dead 
 woman's e} es aj^peared now to regard me as steadily as herself 
 in the opposite mirror, — the head was a little more dropped 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 401 
 
 forward on the breast, and the whole face very nearly re- 
 sembled that of the late Countess of Elton when the last 
 shock of paralysis had rendered her hideous disfigurement 
 complete. 
 
 ** To think that I loved that T' I said aloud, pointing at the 
 corpse's ghastly reflection. " Fool that I was indeed ! — as 
 great a fool as all men are who barter their lives for the pos- 
 session of a woman's mere body ! Why, if there were any life 
 after death — if such a creature had a soul that at all resembled 
 this poisoned clay, the very devils might turn away aghast 
 from such a loathly comrade !" 
 
 The candles flickered, and the dead face seemed to smile, — 
 a clock chimed in the adjoining room, but I did not count the 
 hour, — I merely arranged the manuscript pages I held more 
 methodically, and read on with renewed attention. 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 *' From the moment I saw Lucio Rimanez," went on Sibyl's 
 'dying speech,' " I abandoned myself to love and the desire 
 of love. I had heard of him before from my father, who had 
 (as I learned to my shame) been indebted to him for monetary 
 assistance. On the very night we met, my father told me 
 quite plainly that now was my chance to get 'settled' in life. 
 * Marry Rimanez or Tempest, whichever you can most easily 
 catch,' he said. 'The prince is fabulously wealthy — but he 
 keeps up a mystery about himself and no one knows where he 
 actually comes from, — besides which, he dislikes women; — 
 now Tempest has five millions and seems an easy-going fool, 
 — I should say you had better go for Tempest.' I made no 
 answer and gave no promise either way. I soon found out, 
 however, that Lucio did not intend to marry, — and I con- 
 cluded that he preferred to be the lover of many women, in- 
 stead of the husband of one. I did not love him any the 
 aa . 34* 
 
402 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 less for this, — I only resolved that I would at least be one of 
 those who were happy enough to share his passion. I married 
 the man Tempest, feeling that, like many women I knew, I 
 should, when safely wedded, have greater liberty of action, — I 
 was aware that most modern men prefer an amour with a 
 married woman to any other kind of liaison, — and I thought 
 Lucio would have readily yielded to the plan I had pre-con- 
 ceived. But I was mistaken, — and out of this mistake comes 
 all my perplexity, pain and bewilderment. I cannot under- 
 stand why my love, — beloved beyond all word and thought, — 
 should scorn me and repulse me with such bitter loathing ! 
 It is such a common thing now-a-days for a married woman 
 to have her own lover apart from her husband de convenance ! 
 The writers of books advise it, — I have seen the custom not 
 only excused but advocated, over and over again, in long and 
 scientific articles that are openly published in leading maga- 
 zines. Why then should I be blamed or my desires considered 
 criminal ? As long as no public scandal is made, what harm 
 is done ? I cannot see it, — it is not as if there were a God to 
 care,— the scientists say there is no God. 
 
 I was very startled just now. I thought I heard Lucie's 
 voice calling me. I have walked through the rooms looking 
 everywhere, and I opened my door to listen, but there is no 
 one. I am alone. I have told the servant not to disturb me 
 till I ring ; . . . I shall never ring ! Now I come to think 
 of it, it is singular that I have never known who Lucio really 
 is. A prince, he says — and that I can well believe, — though 
 truly princes now-a-d lys are so plebeian and common in looks 
 and bearing that he seems too great to belong to so shabby a 
 fraternity. From what kingdom does he come? — to what 
 nation does he belong? These are questions which he never 
 answers save equivocally. 
 
 I pau.se here, and look at myself in the mirror. How 
 beautiful I am ! I note with admiration the deep and dewy 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 403 
 
 lustre of my eyes, and their dark silky fringes, — I see the 
 delicate colouring of my cheeks and lips, — the dear rounded 
 chin, with its pretty dimple, — the pure lines of my slim throat 
 and snowy neck, — the glistening wealth of my long hair. All 
 this was given to me for the attraction and luring of men, but 
 my love, whom I love with all this living, breathing, exquisite 
 being of mine, can see no beauty in me, and rejects me with 
 such scorn as pierces my very soul. I have knelt to him, — I 
 have prayed to him, — I have worshipped him, — in vain ! 
 Hence it comes that I must die. Only one thing he said that 
 had the sound of hope, though the utterance was fierce, and 
 his looks were cruel, — 'Patience!' he whispered — 'we shall 
 meet ere long !' What did he mean? — what possible meeting 
 can there be now, when death must close the gate of life, and 
 even love would come too late ! 
 
 I have unlocked my jewel-case and taken from it the deadly 
 thing secreted there, — a poison that was entrusted to me by 
 one of the physicians who lately attended my mother. ' Keep 
 this under lock and key,' he said, ' and be sure that it is used 
 only for external purposes. There is sufficient in this flask to 
 kill ten men if swallowed by mistake.' I look at it wonder- 
 ingly. It is colourless, — and there is not enough to fill a 
 teaspoon, ... yet ... it will bring down upon me an 
 eternal darkness, and close up for ever the marvellous scenes 
 of the universe ! So little !— to do so much ! I have fastened 
 Lucio's wedding-gift round my waist,— the beautiful snake of 
 jewels that clings to me as though it were charged with an 
 embrace from him,— ah ! would I could cheat myself into so 
 pleasing a fancy ! ... I am trembling, but not with cold or 
 fear, — it is simply an excitation of the nerves,— an instinctive 
 recoil of flesh and blood at the near prospect of death . . . 
 How brilliantly the sun shines through my window ! — its 
 callous golden stare has watched so many tortured creatures die 
 without so much as a cloud to dim its radiance by way of the 
 suggestion of pity ! If there were a God, I fancy He would 
 
404 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 be like the siin, — glorious, changeless, unapproachable, beauti- 
 ful, but pitiless ! 
 
 Out of all the various types of human beings I think I hate 
 the class called poets most. I used to love them and believe 
 in them ; but I know them now to be mere weavers of lies, — 
 builders of cloud castles in which no throbbing life can breathe, 
 no weary heart find rest. Love is their chief motive, — they 
 either idealize or degrade it,— and of the love we women long 
 for most they have no conception. They can only sing of 
 brute passion or ethical impossibilities, — of the mutual great 
 sympathy, the ungrudging patient tenderness that should make 
 love lovely, they have no sweet things to say. Between their 
 strained aestheticism and unbridled sensualism, my spirit has 
 been stretched on the rack and broken on the wheel, ... I 
 should think many a wretched woman wrecked among love's 
 disillusions must curse them as I do ! 
 
 I am ready now, I think. There is nothing more to say. 
 I offer no excuses for myself. I am as I was made, — a proud 
 and rebellious woman, self-willed and sensual, seeing no fault 
 in free love, and no crime in conjugal infidelity, — and if I am 
 vicious, I can honestly declare that my vices have been en- 
 couraged and fostered in me by most of the literary teachers 
 of my time. I married, as most women of my set marry, 
 merely for money, — I loved, as most women of my set love, 
 for mere bodily attraction, — I die, as most women of my set 
 will die, either naturally or self-slain, in utter atheism, rejoicing 
 that there is no God and no Hereafter. 
 
 I had the poison in my hand a moment ago, ready to take, 
 when I suddenly felt someone approaching me stealthily from 
 behind, and glancing up quickly at the mirror I saw . . . my 
 mother ! Her face, hideous and ghastly as it had been in her 
 last illness, was reflected in the glass, peering over my shoulder ! 
 I sprang up and confronted her, she was gone ! And now 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 405 
 
 I am shivering with cold, and I feel a chill dampness on my 
 forehead, — mechanically I have soaked a handkerchief with 
 perfume from one of the silver bottles on the dressing table, and 
 have passed it across my temples to help me recover from this 
 sick swooning sensation. To recover ! — how foolish of me, 
 seeing I am about to die. I do not believe in ghosts, — yet I 
 could have sworn my mother was actually present just now,— of 
 course it was an optical delusion of my own feverish brain. The 
 strong scent on my handkerchief reminds me of Paris — I can 
 see the shop where I bought this particular perfume, and the 
 well-dressed doll of a man who served me, with his little waxed 
 moustache and his indefinable French manner of conveying a 
 speechless personal compliment while making out a bill. . . . 
 Laughing at this recollection I see my face radiate in the 
 glass, — my eyes flash into vivid kistre, and the dimples near 
 my lips come and go, giving my expression an enchanting 
 sweetness. Yet in a few hours this loveliness will be de- 
 stroyed, — and in a few days, the worms will twine where 
 the smile is now ! 
 
 An idea has come upon me that perhaps I ought to say a 
 prayer. It would be hypocritical, — but conventional. To 
 die fashionably, one ought to concede a few words to the 
 church. And yet ... to kneel down with clasped hands 
 and tell an inactive, unsympathetic, selfish, paid community 
 called a church, that I am going to kill myself for the sake of 
 love and love's despair, and that therefore I humbly implore 
 its forgiveness for the act, seems absurd, — as absurd as to tell 
 the same thing to a non-existent Deity. I suppose the scien- 
 tists do not think what a strange predicament their advanced 
 theories put the human mind in at the hour of death. They 
 forget that on the brink of the grave, thoughts come that will 
 not be gainsaid, and that cannot be appeased by a learned 
 thesis. . . . However, I will not pray, — it would seem to 
 myself cowardly that I, who have never said my prayers 
 since I was a child, should run over them now in a foolish 
 
4o6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 babbling attempt to satisfy the powers invisible, — I could 
 not, out of sheer association, appeal to Mr Swinburne's 
 * crucified carrion' ! Besides I do not believe in the powers 
 invisible at all, — I feel that once outside this life, 'the rest,' 
 as Hamlet said, ' is silence.' 
 
 I have been staring dreamily and in a sort of stupefaction 
 at the little poison-flask in my hand. // is quite empty )iow. I 
 have swallowed every drop of the liquid it contained, — I took 
 it quickly and determinately as one takes nauseous medicine 
 without allowing myself another moment of time for thought 
 or hesitation. It tasted acrid and burning on my tongue, — 
 but at present I am not conscious of any strange or painful 
 result. I shall watch my face in the mirror and trace the 
 oncoming of death, — this will be at any rate a new sensation 
 not without interest. 
 
 My mother is here, — here with me in this room I She is 
 moving about restlessly, making wild gestures with her hands 
 and trying to speak. She looks as she did when she was 
 dying, — only more alive, more sentient. I have followed her 
 up and down, but am unable to touch her, — she eludes my 
 grasp. 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 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 407 
 
 she is only the phantom of my own brain — that \ 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 al- 
 ready 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 pul- 
 sation 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 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 cannot speak above a whisper, — I mutter my own name to 
 
4o8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 myself, ' Sibyl ! Sibyl !' and can scarcely hear it. My mother 
 stands beside me, — apparently waiting; — a little while ago 
 1 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 ]xiin, — 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 un- 
 easy 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 rea-on and courage to- 
 gether? ... or what is this terrible misgiving that is taking 
 possession of me ? . . .1 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 feel- 
 ing that I cannot 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 dis- 
 tinctly 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 ! 
 
 O God 1 . . . 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 ! — / cannot die ! I am pass- 
 ing out of my body, — I am being wrenched away from it inch 
 by inch in inex})licable 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 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 409 
 
 shapeless, — they float towards me beckoning me on ! I am 
 actively conscious — I hear, I think, 1 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 ! — / cannot 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 ?ne with her, — I cannot 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 ! 
 
 Let me write on, — write on with this dead fleshly hand, . . . 
 one moment more time, dread God ! . . . one moment more 
 to write the Truth, — the terrible truth of death whose darkest 
 secret. Life, is unknown to men. I live ! — a new, strong, 
 impetuous vitality possesses me, though my mortal body is 
 nearly dead. Faint gasps and weak shudderings affect it still, 
 — and I, outside it and no longer of it, propel its perishing 
 hand to write these final words — / live ! To my despair and 
 terror, — to my remorse and agony, I live I — oh, the unspeak- 
 able misery of this new life ! And worst of all, God whom 
 I doubted, God whom I was taught to deny, — this wronged, 
 blasphemed and outraged God exists ! And I could have 
 found Him had I chosen, — this knowledge is forced upon me 
 as I am torn from hence, — it is shouted at me by a thousand 
 wailing voices ! . . . too late ! — too late ! — the scarlet wings 
 s 35 
 
4IO THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 beat me downward, — these strange half-shapeless forms close 
 round and drive me onward ... to a further darkness, . . . 
 amid wind and fire ! 
 
 Serve me, dead hand, once more ere I depart, . . . my 
 tortured spirit must seize and compel you to write down this 
 thing unnamable, that earthly eyes may read, and earthly 
 souls take timely warning ! . . . I know at last WHOM I have 
 loved ! — whom I have chosen, whom I have worshipped ! . . . 
 O God, have mercy ! . . . I know WHO claims my worship 
 now and drags me into yonder rolling world of flame ! . . . 
 his name is ' ' 
 
 Here the manuscript ended, — incomplete and broken off 
 abruptly, — and there was a blot on the last sentence as though 
 the pen had been violently wrenched from the dying fingers 
 and hastily flung down. 
 
 The clock in the west room again chimed the hour. I rose 
 stiffly from my chair, trembling, — my self-possession was giv- 
 ing way, and I began to feel at last unnerved. I looked 
 askance at my dead wife, — she, who with a superhuman dying 
 effort had declared herself to be yet alive, — who, in some 
 imaginable strange way had seemingly written after death, in 
 a frantic desire to make some appalling declaration which 
 nevertheless remained undeclared. The rigid figure of the 
 corpse had now real terrors for me, — I dared not touch it, — I 
 scarcely dared to look at it, . . . in some dim inscrutable 
 fashion I felt as if * scarlet wings' environed it, beating me 
 down, yet pressing me on, — me too, in my turn. With the 
 manuscript gathered close in my hand, I bent nervously for- 
 ward to blow out the wax lights on the toilet table, ... I 
 saw on the floor the handkerchief odorous with the French 
 perfume the dead woman had written of, — I picked it up and 
 placed it near her where she sat grinning hideously at her 
 own mirrored ghastliness. The flash of the jewelled serpent 
 round her waist caught my eyes anew as I did this, and I 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 411 
 
 stared for a moment at its green glitter, dumbly fascinated, — 
 then, moving stealthily with the cold sweat pouring down my 
 back and every pulse in me rendered feeble by sheer horror, 
 I turned to leave the room. As I reached the portiere and 
 lifted it, some instinct made me look back at the dread pic- 
 ture of the leading ' society' beauty sitting stark and livid- 
 pale before her own stark and livid-pale image in the glass, — 
 what a ' fashion-plate' she would make now, I thought, for a 
 frivolous and hypocritical * ladies' paper ! ' 
 
 ''You say you are not dead, Sibyl!" I muttered aloud — 
 " Not dead, but living. Then, if you are alive, where are 
 you, Sibyl? where are you?" 
 
 The heavy silence seemed fraught with fearful meaning, — 
 the light of the electric lamps on the corpse and on the shim- 
 mering silk garment wrapped round it appeared unearthly, — 
 and the perfume in the room had a grave-like earthy smell. 
 A panic seized me, and dragging fiantically at the portiere till 
 all its velvet folds were drawn thickly together, I made haste 
 to shut out from my sight the horrible figure of the woman 
 whose bodily fairness I had loved in the customary way of 
 sensual men, — and left her without so much as a pardoning or 
 pitying kiss of farewell on the cold brow. For, . . . after 
 all I had Myself to think of, . . . and She was dead ! 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 I PASS overall the details of polite 'shock,' affected sorrow, 
 and feigned sympathy of society at my wife's sudden death. 
 No one was really grieved about it, — men raised their eye- 
 brows, shrugged their shoulders, lit extra cigarettes and dis- 
 missed the subject as too unpleasant and depressing to dwell 
 upon, — women were glad of the removal of a too beautiful 
 and too much admired rival, and the majority of fashionable 
 folk delighted in having something ' thrilling' to talk about 
 
412 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 in the tragic circumstances of her end. As a rule, people are 
 seldom or never unselfish enough to be honestly sorry for the 
 evanishment of some leading or brilliant figure from their 
 midst, — the vacancy leaves room for the pushing in of smaller 
 fry. Be sure that if you are unhappily celebrated for either 
 beauty, wit, intellect, or all three together, half society wishes 
 you dead already, and the other half tries to make you as 
 wretched as possible while you are alive. To be missed at all 
 when you die, some one must love you very deeply and un- 
 selfishly ; and deep unselfish love is rarer to find among 
 mortals than a pearl in a dust-bin. 
 
 Thanks to my abundance of cash, everything concerning 
 Sibyl's suicide was admirably managed. In consideration of 
 her social position as an Earl's daughter, two doctors certified 
 (on my paying them very handsome fees) that hers was a 
 'death by misadventure,' — namely, through taking an acci- 
 dental overdose of a powerful sleeping draught. It was the 
 best report to make, — and the most respectable. It gave the 
 penny press an opportunity of moralizing on the dangers that 
 lurked in sleeping draughts generally, — and Tom, Dick, and 
 Harry all wrote letters to their favourite periodicals (signing 
 their names in full) giving their opinions as to the nature of 
 sleeping draughts, so that for a week at least the ordinary 
 dullness of the newspapers was quite enlivened by ungram- 
 matical gratis ' copy.' The conventionalities of law, decency 
 and order were throughout scrupulously observed and com- 
 plied with, — everybody was paid (which was the chief thing), 
 and everybody was, I believe, satisfied with what they man- 
 aged to make out of the death-payment. The funeral gave 
 joy to the souls of all undertakers, — it was so expensive and 
 impressive. The florist's trade gained something of an im- 
 petus by the innumerable orders received for wreaths and 
 crosses made of the costliest flowers. When the coffin was 
 carried to the grave, it could not be seen for the load of blos- 
 soms that covered it. And amid all the ' cards' and ' loving 
 tokens' and ' farewell dearests' and ' not-lost-but-gone-befores' 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 413 
 
 that ticketed the white masses of lilies, gardenias and roses 
 which were supposed to symbolize the innocence and sweetness 
 of the poisoned corpse they were sent to adorn, there was not 
 one honest regret, — not one unfc^igned expression of true sor- 
 row. Lord Elton made a sufficiently striking figure of dig- 
 nified parental woe, but on the whole I think he was not sorry 
 for his daughter's death, since the only opposing obstacle to 
 his marriage with Diana Chesney was now removed. I fancy 
 Diana herself was sorry, so far as such a frivolous little 
 American could be sorry for anything, — perhaps, however, it 
 would be more correct to say that she was frightened. Sibyl's 
 sudden end startled and troubled her, — but I am not sure that 
 it grieved her. There is such a difference between unselfish 
 grief, and the mere sense of nervous personal shock ! Miss 
 Charlotte Fitzroy took the news of her niece's death with that 
 admirable fortitude which frequently characterizes religious 
 spinsters of a certain age. She put by her knitting, — said 
 * God's will be done !' and sent for her favourite clergyman. 
 He came, stayed with her some hours drinking strong tea, — 
 and the next morning at church administered to her the com- 
 munion. This done. Miss Fitzroy went on the blameless and 
 even tenor of her way, wearing the same virtuously distressed 
 expression as usual, and showed no further sign of feeling. 
 I, as the afflicted millionaire-husband, was no doubt the most 
 interesting figure on the scene ; I was, I know, very well got 
 up, thanks to my tailor, and to the affectionate care of the 
 chief undertaker who handed me my black gloves on the day 
 of the funeral with servile solicitude, but in my heart I felt 
 myself to be a far better actor than Henry Irving, and if only 
 for my admirable mimicry of heart-break, more fully worthy of 
 the acolade. Lucio did not attend the obsequies, — he wrote 
 me a brief note of sympathy from town, and hinted that he 
 was sure I could understand his reasons for not being present. 
 I did understand of course, — and appreciated his respect, as I 
 thought, for me and my feelings, — yet strange and incongru- 
 ous as it may seem, I never longed so much for his company 
 
 35* 
 
414 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 as I did then ! However, — we had a glorious burial of my 
 fair and false lady, — prancing horses drew coroneted carriages 
 in a long defile down the j)retty Warwickshire lanes to the 
 grey old church, picturesque and peaceful, where the clergy- 
 man and his assistants in newly-washed surplices, met the 
 flower-laden coffin, and with the usual conventional mumblings, 
 consigned it to the dust. There were even press-reporters 
 present, who not only described the scene as it did not hap- 
 pen, but who also sent fancy sketches, to their respective 
 journals, of the church as it did 7iot exist. I mention this 
 simply to show how thoroughly all ' proper forms' were carried 
 out and conceded to. After the ceremony all we * mourners' 
 went back to Willowsmere to luncheon, and I well remember 
 that Lord Elton told me a new and risque joke over a glass of 
 port before the meal was finished. The undertakers had a 
 sort of festive banquet in the servants' hall, — and taking every- 
 thing into due consideration, my wife's death gave a great 
 deal of pleasure to many people, and put useful money into 
 several ready pockets. She had left no blank in society that 
 could not be easily filled up, — she was merely one butterfly 
 out of thousands, more daintily colored perhaps and more 
 restless in flight, — but never judged as more than up to the 
 butterfly standard. I said no one gave her an honest 
 regret, but I was wrong. Mavis Clare was genuinely, almost 
 passionately grieved. She sent no flowers for the coffin, but 
 she came to the funeral by herself, and stood a little apart 
 waiting silently till the grave was covered in, — and then, just 
 as the ' fashionable' train of mourners were leaving the 
 churchyard, she advanced and placed a white cross of her 
 own garden-lilies across the newly-turned brown mould. I 
 noticed her action, and determined that before I left Willows- 
 mere for the East with Lucio (for my journey had only been 
 postponed a week or two on account of Sibyl's death) she 
 should know all. 
 
 The day came when I carried out this resolve. It was a 
 rainy and chill afternoon, and I found Mavis in her study, 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 415 
 
 sitting beside a bright log fire with her small terrier in her lap 
 and her faithful St Bernard stretched at her feet. She was 
 absorbed in a book, — and over her watched the marble Pallas, 
 inflexible and austere. As I entered she rose, and putting 
 down the volume and her pet dog together, she advanced to 
 meet me with an intense sympathy in her clear eyes, and a 
 wordless pity in the tremulous lines of her sweet moulh. It 
 was charming to see how sorry she felt for me, — and it was 
 odd that I could not feel sorry for myself. After a few words 
 of embarrassed greeting I sat down and watched her silently, 
 while she arranged the logs in the fire to make them burn 
 brighter, and for the moment avoided my gaze. 
 
 "I suppose you know" — I began with harsh abruptness — 
 "that the sleeping-draught story is a polite fiction? You 
 know that my wife poisoned herself intentionally?" 
 
 Mavis looked at me with a troubled and compassionate 
 expression. 
 
 " I feared it was so — " . . . she began nervously. 
 
 *'0h there is nothing either to fear or to hope," I said 
 with some violence. ^'- She did it. And can you guess why 
 she did it ? Because she was mad with her own wickedness 
 and sensuality, — because she loved with a guilty love, my 
 friend Lucio Rimanez." 
 
 Mavis gave a little cry as of pain, and sat down white and 
 trembling. 
 
 *' You can read quickly, I am sure," I went on. '* Part of 
 the profession of literature is the ability to skim books and 
 manuscripts rapidly, and grasp the whole gist of them in a 
 few minutes, — read this — " and I handed her the rolled-up 
 pages of Sibyl's dying declaration. " Let me stay here, while 
 you learn from that what sort of a woman she was, and judge 
 whether, despite her beauty, she is worth a regret." 
 
 ''Pardon me," said Mavis gently — ''I would rather not 
 read what was not meant for my eyes." 
 
 " But it /> meant for your eyes," I retorted impatiently. 
 " It is meant for everybody's eyes apparently,— it is addressed 
 
41 6 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 to nobody in particular. There is a mention of you in it. I 
 beg — nay 1 command you to read it ! — I want your opinion 
 on it, — your advice ; you may possibly suggest, after perusal, 
 the proper sort of epitaph I ought to inscribe on the monu- 
 ment I am going to build to her sacred and dear memory." 
 
 I covered my face with one hand to hide the bitter smile 
 which I knew betrayed my thoughts, and pushed the manu- 
 script towards her. Very reluctantly she took it, — and slowly 
 unrolling it, began to read. For several minutes there was a 
 silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs on the fire, 
 and the regular breathing of the dogs who now both lay 
 stretched comfortably in front of the wood blaze. 1 looked 
 covertly at the woman wdiose fame I had envied, — at the 
 girlish figure, the coronal of soft hair, — the delicate, drooping 
 sensitive face, — the small white classic hand that held the 
 written sheets of paper so firmly yet so tenderly, — the very 
 hand of the Greek marble Psyche ; — and I thought what 
 short-sighted asses some literary men are who suppose they 
 can succeed in shutting out women like Mavis Clare from 
 winning everything that fame or fortune can offer. Such a 
 head as hers, albeit covered with locks fair and caressable, 
 was not meant, in its fine shape and compactness, for submis- 
 sion to inferior intelligences, whether masculine or feminine, — 
 that determined little chin, which the firelight delicately out- 
 lined, was a visible declaration of the strength of will and the 
 indomitably high ambition of its owaier, — and yet, . . . the 
 soft eyes, — the tender mouth, — did not these suggest the 
 sweetest love, the purest passion that ever found place in a 
 woman's heart? I lost myself in dreamy musing, — I thought 
 of many things that had little to do with either my own past 
 or present. I realized that now and then at rare intervals 
 God makes a \voman of genius with a thinker's brain and an 
 angel's soul, and that such an one is bound to be a destiny 
 to all mortals less divinely endowed, and a glory to the world 
 in which she dwells. So considering, I studied Mavis Clare's 
 face and form, — I saw her eyes fill \vith tears as she read on; 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 417 
 
 — why should she weep, I wondered, over that ' last docu- 
 ment' which had left me unmoved and callous ? I was 
 startled almost as if from sleep when her voice, thrilling 
 with pain, disturbed the stillness, — she sprang up, gazing at 
 me as if she saw some horrible vision. 
 
 ''Oh, are you so blind," she cried, ''as not to see what 
 this means ? Can you not understand ? Do you not know 
 your worst enemy ?' ' 
 
 " My worst enemy?" I echoed amazed. "You surprise 
 me, Mavis, — what have I, or my enemies or friends to do 
 with my wife's last confession? She raved, — between poison 
 and jassion, she could not tell, as you see by her final words, 
 whether she was dead or alive, — and her writing at all under 
 such stress of circumstances was a phenomenal effort, — but it 
 has nothing to do with me personally." 
 
 "For God's sake do not be so hard-hearted," said Mavis 
 passionately. "To me these last words of Sibyl's, — poor, 
 tortured, miserable girl ! — are beyond all expression horrible 
 and appalling. Do \ ou mean to tell me you have no belief in 
 a future life?" 
 
 " None." I answered with conviction. 
 
 "Then this is nothing to you? — this solemn assurance of 
 hers that she is not dead, but living again, — living too, in 
 indesc:ribable misery ! — you do not believe it?" 
 
 "Does anyone believe the ravings of the dying!" I an- 
 swered. "She was, as I have said, suffering the torments 
 of poison and passion, — and in those torments wrote as one 
 tormented. ..." 
 
 "Is it impossible to convince you of the truth?" asked 
 Mavis solemnly. " Are you so diseased in your spiritual per- 
 ceptions as not to knoiv, beyond a doubt, that this world is 
 but the shadow of the Other Worlds awaiting us ? I assure 
 you, as I live, you will have that terrible knowledge forced 
 upon you some day ! I am aware of your theories, — your 
 wife had the same beliefs or rather non-beliefs as yourself, — 
 yet she has been convinced at last. I shall not attempt to 
 bb 
 
4i8 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 argue with you. If this last letter of the unhappy girl you 
 wedded cannot ojjen your eyes to the eternal facts you choose 
 to ignore, nothing will ever help you. You are in the power 
 of your enemy !" 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking, Mavis?" I asked astonished, 
 observing that she stood like one suddenly appalled in a 
 dream, her eyes fixed musingly on vacancy, and her lips 
 trembling apart. 
 
 "Your enemy — your enemy!" she repeated with energy. 
 ''It seems to me as if his Shadow stood near you now ! 
 Listen to this voice from the dead — Sibyl's voice ! — what 
 does she say? — ^O God, have mercy ! . . . I know who clawis 
 my worship now and drags me into yo?ider rolling world of 
 flame . . . his nafne is — ' ' ' 
 
 "Well!" I interrupted eagerly. "She breaks off there; 
 his name is " 
 
 " Lucio Rimanez !" said Mavis in a thrilling tone. " I do 
 not know from whence he came, — but I take God to witness 
 my belief that he is a worker of evil, — a fiend in beautiful 
 human shape, — a destroyer and a corrupter ! The curse of 
 him fell on Sibyl the moment she met him, — the same curse 
 rests on you ! Leave him if you are wise, — take your chance 
 of escape while it remains to you, — and never let him see 
 your face again !" 
 
 She spoke with a kind of breathless haste as though impelled 
 by a force not her own, — I stared at her amazed, and in a 
 manner irritated. 
 
 " Such a course of action would be impossible tome. Mavis," 
 I said somewhat coldly. "The Prince Rimanez is my best 
 friend — no man ever had a better ; — and his loyalty to me has 
 been put to a severe test under which most men would have 
 failed. I have not told you all." 
 
 And I related in a few words the scene I had witnessed be- 
 tween my wife and Lucio in the music-gallery at Willowsmere. 
 She listened, — but with an evident effort, — and pushing back 
 her clustering hair from her brows, she sighed heavily. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 419 
 
 *'I am sorry, — but it does not alter my conviction," she 
 said. *' I look upon your best friend as your worst foe. And 
 I feel you do not realize the awful calamity of your wife's 
 death in its true aspect. Will you forgive me if I ask you to 
 leave me now? — Lady Sibyl's letter has affected me terribly — 
 I feel I cannot speak about it any more. ... I wish I had not 
 read it. . . ." 
 
 She broke off with a little half-suppressed sob, — I saw she 
 was unnerved, and taking the manuscript from her hand I said 
 half-ban teringly — 
 
 " You cannot then suggest an epitaph for my wife's monu- 
 ment?" 
 
 She turned upon me with a grand gesture of reproach. 
 
 " Yes I can !" she replied in a low indignant voice. " In- 
 scribe it as — ' From a pitiless hand to a broken heart !' That 
 will suit the dead girl, and you, — the living man !" 
 
 Her rustling gown swept across my feet, — she passed me and 
 was gone. Stupefied by her sudden anger and equally sudden 
 departure I stood inert, — the St Bernard rose from the hearth- 
 rug and glowered at me suspiciously, evidently wishing me to 
 take my leave, — Pallas Athene stared, as usual, through me and 
 beyond me in a boundless scorn, — all the various objects in 
 this quiet study seemed silently to eject me as an undesired 
 occupant. I looked round it once longingly as a tired outcast 
 may look on a peaceful garden and wish in vain to enter. 
 
 ''How like her sex she is after all!" I said half aloud. 
 *' She blames me for being pitiless, — and forgets that Sibyl was 
 the sinner, — not I ! No matter how guilty a woman may be, 
 she generally manages to secure a certain amount of sympathy, 
 — a man is always left out in the cold." 
 
 A shuddering sense of loneliness oppressed me as my eyes 
 wandered round the restful room. The odour of lilies was in 
 the air, exhaled, so I fancied, from the delicate and dainty 
 personality of Mavis herself. 
 
 " If I had only known her first, — and loved her !" I mur- 
 mured, as I turned away at last and left the house. 
 
420 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 But then I remembered I had hated her before I ever met 
 her, — and not only had I hated her, but I had villified and 
 misrepresented her work with a scurrilous pen under the shield 
 of anonymity, and out of sheer malice, — thus giving her in 
 the public sight the greatest proof of her own genius a gifted 
 woman can ever win, — man's envy ! 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 Two weeks later I stood on the deck of Lucio's yacht 
 *The Flame,' — a vessel whose complete magnificence filled 
 me as well as all othdr beholders with bewildered wonderment 
 and admiration. She was a miracle of speed, her motive 
 power being electricity ; and the electric engines with which 
 she was fitted were so complex and remarkable as to baffle all 
 would-be inquirers into the secret of their mechanism and 
 potency. A large crowd of spectators gathe^-ed to see her as 
 she lay off Southampton, attracted by the beauty of her shape 
 and appearance, — some bolder spirits even came out in tugs 
 and row-boats, hoping to be allowed to make a visit of in- 
 spection on board, but the sailors, powerfully-built men of a 
 foreign and somewhat unpleasing type, soon intimated that 
 the company of such inquisitive persons was undesirable and 
 unwelcome. With white sails spread and a crimson flag fly- 
 ing from her mast, she weighed anchor at sunset on the after- 
 noon of the day her owner and I jo ned her, and moving 
 through the waters with delicious noiselessness and incredible 
 rapidity, soon left far behind her the English shore, looking 
 like a white line in the mist, or the pale vision of a land that 
 might once have been. I had done a few quixotic things be- 
 fore departing from my native country, — for example, I had 
 made a free gift of his former home, Willowsmere, to Lord 
 Elton, taking a sort of sullen pleasure in thinking that he, the 
 spendthrift nobleman, owed the restoration of his property to 
 viCj — to me who had never been either a successful linen- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 421 
 
 draper or furniture-man, but simply an author, one of ' those 
 sort of people' Avhom my lord and my lady imagine they can 
 * patronize' and neglect again at pleasure without danger to 
 themselves. The arrogant fools invariably forget what lasting 
 vengeance can be taken for an unmerited slight by the owner 
 of a brilliant pen ! I was glad too, in a way, to realize that 
 the daughter of the American railway-king would be brought 
 to the grand old house to air her ' countess-ship,' and look at 
 her prettily pert little physiognomy in the very mirror where 
 Sibyl had watched herself die. I do not know why this idea 
 pleased me, for I bore no grudge against Diana Chcsney, — 
 she was vulgar but harmless, and would probably make a 
 much more popular chatelaine at Willowsmere Court than my 
 wife had ever been. Among other things, I dismissed my 
 man Morris, and made him miserable, — with the gift of a 
 thousand pounds, to marry and start a business on. He was 
 miserable because he could not make up his mind what busi- 
 ness to adopt, his anxiety being to choose the calling that 
 would ' pay' best, — and also, because, though he ' had his eye' 
 upon several young women, he could not tell which among 
 them would be likely to be least extravagant, and the most ser- 
 viceable as a cook and housekeeper. The love of money and 
 the pains of taking care of it, embittered his days as it em- 
 bitters the days of most men, and my unexpected munificence 
 towards him burdened him with such a weight of trouble as 
 robbed him of natural sleep and appetite. I cared nothing 
 for his perplexities, however, and gave him no advice, good or 
 bad. My other servants I dismissed, each with a considerable 
 gift of money, not that I particularly wished to benefit thcin, 
 but simply because I desired them to speak well of me. And 
 in this world it is very evident that the only way to get a good 
 opinion is to pay for it I I gave orders to a famous Italian 
 sculptor for Sibyl's monument, English sculptors having no 
 conception of sculpture, — it was to be of exquisite design, 
 wTought in purest white marble, the chief adornment being 
 the centre-figure of an angel ready for flight, with the face of 
 
 36 
 
422 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 Sibyl faithfully copied from her picture. Because, however 
 devilish a woman may be in her life-time, one is bound by all 
 the laws of social hypocrisy to make an angel of her as soon 
 as she is dead ! Just before I left London I heard that my 
 old college-friend 'Boffles,' John Carrington, had met with a 
 sudden end. Busy at the ' retorting' of his gold, he had been 
 choked by the mercurial fumes and had died in hideous tor- 
 ment. At one time this news would have deeply affected me, 
 but now, I was scarcely sorry. I had heard nothing of him 
 since I had come into my fortune, — he had never even written 
 to congratulate me. Always full of my own self-importance, 
 I judged this as great neglect on his part, and now that he was 
 dead I felt no more than any of us feel now-a-days at the loss 
 of friends. And that is very little, — we have really no time 
 to be sorry, — so many people are always dying ! — and we are 
 in such a desperate hurry to rush on to death ourselves ! 
 Nothing seemed to touch me that did not closely concern 
 my own personal interest, — and I had no affections left, unless 
 I may call the vague tenderness I had for Mavis Clare an 
 affection. Yet, to be honest, this very emotion was after all 
 nothing but a desire to be consoled, pitied and loved by her, 
 — to be able to turn upon the world and say, ^' This woman 
 whom you have lifted on your shield of honour and crowned 
 with laurels, — she loves nic — she is not yours, but mine I' ^ 
 Purely interested and purely selfish was the longing, — and it 
 deserved no other name than selfishness. 
 
 My feelings for Rimanez too began at this time to undergo 
 a curious change. The fascination I had for him, the power 
 he exercised over me remained as great as ever, but I found 
 myself often absorbed in a close study of him, strangely against 
 my own will. Sometimes his every look seemed fraught with 
 meaning, — his every gesture suggestive of an almost terrific 
 authority. He was always to me the most attractive of beings, 
 — nevertheless there was an uneasy sensation of doubt and 
 fear growing up in my mind regarding him, — a painful anxiety 
 to know more about him than he had ever told me, — and on 
 
THE SORROWS OV SATAN 423 
 
 rare occasions I experienced a sudden shock of inexplicable 
 repulsion against him which like a tremendous wave threw me 
 back with violence upon myself and left me half stunned with 
 a dread of I knew not what. Alone with him, as it were, on 
 the wide sea, cut off for a time from all other intercourse than 
 that which we shared together, these sensations were very 
 strong upon me. I began to note many things which I had 
 been too blind or too absorbed in my own pursuits to ob erve 
 before ; the offensive presence of Amiel, who acted as chief 
 steward on board the yacht, filled me now not only with dis- 
 like, but nervous apprehension, — the dark and more or less 
 rejoulsive visages of the crew haunted me in my dreams ; — and 
 one day, leaning over the vessel's edge and gazing blankly 
 down into the fathomless water below, I fell to thinking of 
 strange sorceries of the East, and stories of magicians who by 
 the exercise of unlawful science did so make victims of men 
 and delude them that their wills were entirely ijerverted and 
 no longer tlieir own. I do not know why this passing thought 
 should have suddenly overwhelmed me with deep depression, 
 — but when I looked up, to me the sky had grown dark, and 
 the face of one of the sailors who was near me polishing the 
 brass hand-rail, seemed singularly threatening and sinister. I 
 moved to go to the other side of the deck, when a hand was 
 gently laid on my shoulder from behind, and turning, I met 
 the sad and splendid eyes of Lucio. 
 
 "Are you growing weary of the voyage, Geoffrey?" he 
 asked — "weary of those two suggestions of eternity — the in- 
 terminable sky, the interminable sea? I am afraid you are ! — 
 man easily gets fatigued with his own littleness and powerless- 
 ness when he is set afloat on a plank between air and ocean. 
 Yet we are travelling as swiftly as electricity will bear us, — 
 and, as worked in this vessel, it is carrying us at a far greater 
 speed than you perhaps realize or imagine." 
 
 I made no immediate answer, but taking his arm strolled 
 slowly up and down. I felt he was looking at me, but I 
 avoided meeting his gaze. 
 
424 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 " You have been thinking of your wife?" he queried softly 
 and, as I thought, sympathetically. '* I have shunned, — for 
 reasons you know of, — all allusion to the tragic end of so 
 beautiful a creature. Beauty is, alas ! — so often subject to 
 hysteria ! Yet — if you had any faith, you w^ould believe she 
 is an angel now." 
 
 I stopped short at this, and looked straight at him. There 
 was a fine smile on his delicate mouth. 
 
 *'An angel!" I repeated slowly — "or a devil? Which 
 would you say she is ? — you, who sometimes declare that you 
 believe in Heaven, — and Hell?" 
 
 He was silent, but the dreamy smile remained still on his 
 lips. 
 
 '' Come, speak !" I said roughly. *' You can be frank with 
 me, you know, — angel or devil — which?" 
 
 *'My dear Geoffrey!" he remonstrated gently and with 
 gravity — "a woman is always an angel, — both here and 
 hereafter ! ' ' 
 
 I laughed bitterly. "If that is part of your faith I am 
 sorry for you ! ' ' 
 
 "I have not spoken of my faiih," he rejoined in colder 
 accents, lifting his brilliant eyes to the darkening heaven. 
 " I am not a Salvationist, that I should bray forth a creed to 
 the sound of trump and drum." 
 
 "All the same, you luwe a creed," I persisted — "and I 
 fancy it must be a strange one ! If you remember, you 
 promised to explain it to me " 
 
 "Are you ready to receive such an explanation?" he asked 
 in a somewhat ironical tone. " No, my dear friend ! — permit 
 me to say you are not ready — not yet ! My beliefs are too 
 positive to be brought even into contact with your contradic- 
 tions, — too frightfully real to submit to your doubts for a 
 moment. You would at once begin to revert to the puny 
 used-up old arguments of Voltaire, Schopenhauer and Huxley, 
 — little atomic theories like grains of dust in the whirlwind of 
 My knowledge ! I can tell you I believe in God as a very 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 425 
 
 Actual and Positive Being, — and that is presumably the first 
 of the Church articles." 
 
 "You believe in God!" I echoed his words, staring at 
 him stupidly. He seemed in earnest. In fact he had always 
 seemed in earnest on the subject of Deity. Vaguely I thought 
 of a woman in society whom I slightly knew, — an ugly woman, 
 unattractive and mean-minded, who passed her time in enter- 
 taining semi-Royalties and pushing herself amongst them, — 
 she had said to me one day — "I hate people who believe in 
 God, don't you? The idea of a God makes me sick /" 
 
 "You believe in God !" I repeated again dubiously. 
 
 "Look!" he said, raising his hand towards the sky. 
 "There, a few drifting clouds cover millions of worlds, im- 
 penetrable, mysterious, yet actual; — down there," and he 
 pointed to the sea, " lurk a thousand things of which, though 
 the ocean is a part of earth, human beings have not yet 
 learned the nature. Between these upper and lower spaces 
 of the Incomprehensible yet Absolute, you, a finite atom of 
 limited capabilities stand, uncertain how long the frail thread 
 of your life shall last, yet arrogantly balancing the question 
 with your own poor brain, as to whether you, — yoic in your 
 utter littleness and incompetency shall condescend to accept a 
 God or not ! I confess, that of all astonishing things in the 
 Universe, this particular attitude of modern mankind is the 
 most astonishing to me !" 
 
 "Your own attitude is? " 
 
 " The reluctant acceptance of such terrific knowledge as is 
 forced upon me," he replied with a dark smile. "I do not 
 say I have been an apt or a willing pupil, — I have had to 
 suffer in learning what I know !" 
 
 " Do you believe in hell!" I asked him suddenly — "and 
 in Satan, the Arch-Enemy of mankind?" 
 
 He was silent for so long that I was surprised, the more so 
 as he grew pale to the lips, and a curious, almost deathlike 
 rigidity of /eature gave his expression something of the ghastly 
 and terrible. After a pause he turned his eyes upon me, — 
 
 36* 
 
426 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 an intense burning misery was reflected in them, though he 
 smiled. 
 
 *' Most assuredly I believe in hell ! How can I do other- 
 wise if I believe in heaven? If there is an Up there must be 
 a Down ; if there is Light, there must also be Darkness. 
 And, . . . concerning the Arch-Enemy of mankind, — if 
 half the stories reported of him be true, he must be the 
 most piteous and pitiable figure in the Universe ! What 
 would be the sorrows of a thousand million worlds, com- 
 pared to the sorrows of Satan ! ' ' 
 
 " Sorrows !" I echoed. " He is supposed to rejoice in the 
 working of evil !" 
 
 ''Neither angel nor devil can do that," he said slowly. 
 " To rejoice in the working of evil is a temporary mania 
 which affects man only. For actual joy to come out of evil, 
 Chaos must come again, and God must extinguish Himself." 
 He stared across the dark sea, — the sun had sunk, and one 
 faint star twinkled through the clouds. *' And so I again say 
 — the sorrows of Satan ! Sorrows immeasurable as eternity 
 itself, — imagine them ! To be shut out of Heaven ! — to hear, 
 all through the unending aeons, the far-off voices of angels 
 whom once he knew and loved ! — to be a wanderer among 
 deserts of darkness, and to pine for the light celestial that 
 was formerly as air and food to his being, — and to know that 
 Man's folly, Man's utter selfishness, Man's cruelty, keep him 
 thus exiled, an outcast from pardon and peace ! Man's 
 nobleness may lift the Lost Spirit almost within reach of his 
 lost joys, — but Man's vileness drags him down again, — easy 
 was the torture of Sisyphus compared with the torture of 
 Satan ! No wonder that he loathes Mankind ! — small blame 
 to him if he seeks to destroy the puny tribe eternally, — little 
 marvel that he grudges them their share of immortality ! 
 Think of it as a legend merely," — and he turned upon me 
 with a movement that was almost fierce, — " Christ redeemed 
 Man, — and by his teaching, showed how it was possible for 
 Man to redeem the Devil !" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 427 
 
 "I do not understand yon," I said feebly, awed by the 
 strange pain and passion of his tone. 
 
 " Do you not? Yet my meaning is scarcely obscure ! If 
 men were true to their immortal instincts and to the God that 
 made them,. — if they were generous, honest, fearless, faithful, 
 reverent, unselfish, ... if women were pure, brave, tender 
 and loving, — can you not imagine that, in the strong force 
 and fairness of such a world, * Lucifer, son of the Morning' 
 would be moved to love instead of hate?— that the closed 
 doors of Paradise would be unbarred, — and that he, lifted 
 towards his Creator on the prayers of pure lives, would wear 
 again his Angel's crown? Can you not rtalize this, even by 
 way of a legendary story ?' ' 
 
 ''Why yes, as a legendary story the idea is beautiful," — I 
 admitted, — '' and to me, as I told you once before, quite new. 
 Still, as men are never likely to be honest, or women pure, 
 I'm afraid the poor Devil stands a bad chance of ever getting 
 redeemed ! ' ' 
 
 "I fear so too !" and he eyed me with a curious derision — 
 " I very much fear so ! And his chances being so slight, 
 I rather respect him for being the Arch-Enemy of such a 
 worthless race!" He paused a moment, then added — "I 
 wonder how we have managed to get on such an absurd 
 subject of conversation ? It is dull and uninteresting, as all 
 ' spiritual' themes invariably are. My object in bringing you 
 out on this voyage is not to indulge in psychological argu- 
 ment, but to make you forget your troubles as much as pos- 
 sible, and enjoy the present while it lasts." 
 
 There was a vibration of compassionate kindness in his 
 voice which at once moved me to an acute sense of self-pity, 
 the worst enervator of moral force that exists. I sighed 
 heavily. 
 
 ''Truly I have suffered," I said — "more than most men !" 
 
 "More even than most millionaires deserve to suffer!" 
 declared Lucio, with that inevitable touch of sarcasm which 
 distinguished some of his friendliest remarks. "Money is 
 
428 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 supposed to make amends to a man for everything, — and 
 even the wealthy wife of a certain Irish * patriot' has not 
 found it incompatible with affection to hold her moneybags 
 close to herself while her husband has been declared a bank- 
 rupt. How she has 'idolized' him, let others say ! Now, 
 considering _y^//r cash-abundance, it must be owned the fates 
 have treated you somewhat unkindly !" 
 
 The smile that was half-cruel and half-sweet radiated in his 
 eyes as he spoke, — and again a singular revulsion of feeling 
 against him moved me to dislike and fear. And yet, — how 
 fascinating was his company ! I could not but admit that the 
 voyage with him to Alexandria on board ' The Flame' was 
 one of positive enchantment and luxury all the way. There 
 was nothing in a material sense left to wish for, — all that could 
 appeal to the intelligence or the imagination had been thought 
 of on board this wonderful yacht which bped like a fairy ship 
 over the sea. Some of the sailors were skilled musicians, and 
 on tranquil nights, or at sunset, would bring stringed instru- 
 ments and discourse to our ears the most dulcet and ravishing 
 melodies. Lucio himself too would often sing, — his luscious 
 voice resounding, as it seemed, over all the visible sea and 
 sky, with such passion as might have drawn an angel down 
 to listen. Gradually my mind became impregnated with 
 these snatches of mournful, fierce, or weird minor tunes, — 
 and I began to suffer in silence from an inexplicable depres- 
 sion and foreboding sense of misery, as well as from another 
 terrible feeling to which I could scarcely give a name, — a 
 Aitd^dJixA uncertainty of myself , ^^ of one lost in a wilderness 
 and about to die. I endured these fits of mental agony alone, 
 — and in such dreary burning moments, believed I was going 
 mad. I grew more and more sullen and taciturn, and when 
 we at last arrived at Alexandria I was not moved to any par- 
 ticular pleasure. The place was new ro me, but I was not 
 conscious of novelty, — everything seemed flat, dull, and totally 
 uninteresting. A heavy almost lethargic stupor chained my 
 wits, and when we left the yacht in harbour and went on to 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 429 
 
 Cairo, I was not sensible of any personal enjoyment in the 
 journey, or interest in what I saw. I was only partially roused 
 when we took possession of a luxurious dahabeah, which, with 
 a retinue of attendants, had been specially chartered for us, 
 and commenced our lotus-like voyage up the Nile. The 
 reed-edged, sluggish yellow river fascinated me, — I used to 
 spend long hours reclining at full length in a deck-chair, 
 gazing at the flat shores, the blown sand-heaps, the broken 
 columns and mutilated temples of the dead kingdoms of the 
 past. One evening, thus musing, while the great golden moon 
 climbed languidly up into the sky to stare at the wrecks of 
 earthly ages I said — 
 
 *' If one could only see these ancient cities as they once ex- 
 isted, what strange revelations might be made ! Our modern 
 marvels of civilization and progress might seem small trifles 
 after all, — for I believe in our days we are only re- discovering 
 what the peoples of old time knew. ' ' 
 
 Lucio drew his cigar from his mouth and looked at it medi- 
 tatively. Then he glanced up at me with a half-smile — 
 
 "Would you like to see a city resuscitated?" he inquired. 
 " Here, in this very spot, some six thousand years ago, a king 
 reigned, with a woman not his queen, but his favourite (quite 
 a lawful arrangement in those days), who was as famous for 
 her beauty and virtue as this river is for its fructifying tide. 
 Here civilization had progressed enormously, — with the one 
 exception that it had not outgrown faith. Modern France 
 and England have beaten the ancients in their scorn of God 
 and creed, their contempt for divine things, their unnamable 
 lasciviousness and blasphemy. This city" — and he waved 
 his hand towards a dreary stretch of shore where a cluster 
 of tall reeds waved above the monster fragment of a fallen 
 column — " was governed by the strong pure faith of its people 
 more than anything, — and the ruler of social things in it was 
 a woman. The king's favourite was something like Mavis 
 Clare in that she possessed genius, — she had also the qualities 
 of justice, intelligence, love, truth and a most noble unself- 
 
430 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ishness, — she made this place happy. It was a paradise on 
 earth while she lived, — when she died, its glory ended. So 
 much can a woman do if she chooses, — so much does she not 
 do, in her usual cow-like way of living I" 
 
 *' How do you know all this you tell me of?" I asked 
 him. 
 
 '*By study of past records," he replied. I read what 
 modern men declare they have no time to read. You are 
 right in the idea that all ' new' things are only old things 
 re-invented or re-discovered, — if you had gone a step further 
 and said that some of men's present lives are only the continu- 
 ation of their past, you would not have been wrong. Now, 
 if you like, I can, by my science, show you the city that stood 
 here long ago, — the ' City Beautiful' as its name is, translated 
 from the ancient tongue." 
 
 I roused myself from my lounging attitude and looked at 
 him amazedly. He met my gaze unmoved. 
 
 ''You can show it to me !" I exclaimed. '' How can you 
 do such an impossible thing ?' ' 
 
 ** Permit me to hypnotize you," he answered smiling. 
 '*My system of hypnotism is, very fortunately, not yet dis- 
 covered by meddlesome inquirers into occult matters, — but it 
 never fails of its effect, — and I promise you, you shall, under 
 my influence, see not only the place, but the people." 
 
 My curiosity was strongly excited, and I became more eager 
 to try the suggested experiment than I cared to openly show. 
 I laughed, however, with affected indifference. 
 
 "I am perfectly willing !" I said. *' All the same, I don't 
 think you can hypnotize me, — I have much too strong a will 
 
 of my own " at which remark I saw a smile, dark and 
 
 saturnine, hover on his lips — *' But you can make the at- 
 tempt." 
 
 He rose at once, and signed to one of our Egyptian 
 servants. 
 
 ''Stop the dahabeah, Azimah," he said. "We will rest 
 here for the night." 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 431 
 
 Azimah, a superb-looking Eastern in picturesque white gar- 
 ments, put his hands to his head in submission and retired to 
 give the order. In another few moments the dahabeah had 
 stopped. A great silence was around us, — the moonlight fell 
 like yellow wine on the deck, — in the far distance, across the 
 stretches of dark sand, a solitary column towered so clear-cut 
 against the sky that it was almost possible to discern upon it 
 the outline of a monstrous face. Lucio stood still, confront- 
 ing me, — saying nothing, but looking me steadily through and 
 through, with those wonderfully mystic, melancholy eyes that 
 seemed to penetrate and burn my very flesh. I was attracted 
 as a bird might be by the basilisk eyes of a snake, — yet I tried 
 to smile and say something indifferent. My efforts were use- 
 less, — personal consciousness was slipping from me fast, — the 
 sky, the water and the moon whirled round each other in a 
 giddy chase for precedence ; — I could not move, for my limbs 
 seemed fastened to my chair with weights of iron, and I was 
 for a few minutes absolutely powerless. Then suddenly my 
 vision cleared (^as I thought) — my senses grew vigorous and 
 alert, ... I heard the sound of solemn marching music, and 
 there, — there in the full radiance of the moon, with a thou- 
 sand lights gleaming from towers and cupolas, shone the ' City 
 Beautiful' ! 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 A VISION of majestic buildings, vast, stately and gigantic ! 
 — of streets crowded with men and women in white and 
 coloured garments, adorned with jewels, — of flowers that grew 
 on the roofs of palaces and swung from terrace to terrace 
 in loops and garlands of fantastic bloom, — of trees, broad- 
 branched and fully leafed, — of mirble embankments over- 
 looking the river, — of lotus-lilies growing thickly below, by 
 the wafer's edge, — of music, that echoed in silver and brazen 
 twangings from the shelter of shady gardens and covered bal- 
 
432 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 conieSj — every beautiful detail rose before me more distinctly 
 than an ivory carving mounted on an ebony shield. Just 
 opposite where I stood, or seemed to stand, on the deck of a 
 vessel in the busy harbour, a wide avenue extended, opening 
 up into huge squares embellished with strange figures of 
 granite gods and animals, — I saw the sparkling spray of many 
 fountains in the moonlight, and heard the low persistent hum 
 of the restless human multitudes that thronged the place as 
 thickly as bees clustered in a hive. To the left of the scene I 
 could discern a huge bronze gate guarded by sphinxes ; there 
 was a garden beyond it, and from that depth of shade a girl's 
 voice, singing a strange wild melody, came floating towards 
 me on the breeze. Meanwhile the marching music I had first 
 of all caught the echo of, sounded nearer and nearer, — and 
 presently I perceived a great crowd approaching with lighted 
 torches and garlands of flowers. Soon 1 saw a band of priests 
 in brilliant robes that literally blazed with sun-like gems, — 
 they were moving towards the river, and with them came young 
 boys and little children, while on either side, maidens white- 
 veiled and rose-wreathed, paced demurely, swinging silver 
 censors to and fro. After the priestly procession walked a 
 regal figure between ranks of slaves and attendants, — I knew 
 it for the King of this ' City Beautiful,' and was almost moved 
 to join in the thundering acclamations which greeted his 
 progress. And that snowy palanquin, carried by lily-crowned 
 girls, that followed his train, — who occupied it ? . . . what 
 gem of his land was thus tenderly enshrined ? I was consumed 
 by an extraordinary longing to know this, — I watched the 
 white burden coming nearer to my point of vantage, — I saw 
 the priests arrange themselves in a semi circle on the river- 
 embankment, the King in their midst, and the surging shout- 
 ing multitude around, — then came the brazen clangour of 
 many bells, intermixed with the rolling of drums and the 
 shrilling sound of reed pipes lightly blown upon, — and, amid 
 the blaze of the flaring torches, the White Palanquin was set 
 down upon the ground. A woman, clad in some silvery 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 433 
 
 glistening tissue, stepped forth from it like a sylph from the 
 
 foam of the sea, but she was veiled, — I could not discern 
 
 so much as the outline of her features, and the keen disap- 
 pointment of this was a positive torture to me. If I could 
 but see her, I thought, I should know something I had never 
 hitherto guessed ! '' Lift, oh, lift the shrouding veil, Spirit of 
 the City Beautiful !" I inwardly prayed— " For I feel I shall 
 read in your eyes the secret of happiness !" 
 
 But the veil was not withdrawn, . . . the music made bar- 
 baric clamour in my ears, . . . the blaze of strong light and 
 colour blinded me, . . . and I felt myself reeling into a dark 
 chaos, where, as I imagined, I chased the moon, as she flew 
 before me on silver wings, — then , . . the sound of a rich 
 baritone trolling out a light song from a familiar modern 
 
 opera bouffe confused and startled me, and in another 
 
 second I found myself staring wildly at Lucio, who, lying 
 easily back in his deck-chair, was carolling joyously to the 
 silent night and the blank expan-e of sandy shore, in front of 
 which our dahabeah rested motionless. With a cry I flung 
 myself upon him. 
 
 ** Where is she?" I exclaimed. *' Who is she?" 
 
 He looked at me without replying, and smiling quizzically, 
 released himself from my sudden grasp. I drew back shud- 
 dering and bewildered. 
 
 " I saw it all !" I murmured — " The city — the priests, — the 
 people — the King ! all but Her face ! Why was that hid- 
 den from me ! " 
 
 And actual tears rose to my eyes involuntarily, — Lucio sur- 
 veyed me with evident amusement. 
 
 " What a 'find' you would be to a first-class ' spiritual' im- 
 postor playing his tricks in cultured and easily-gulled London 
 society !" he observed. '' You seem most powerfully impressed 
 by a passing vision !" 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," I said earnestly, " that what I 
 saw just now was the mere thought of your brain conveyed to 
 mine ?' ' 
 
 T cc 37 
 
434 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 "Precisely!" he responded. 'I know what the 'City 
 Beautiful' was like, and I was able to draw it for you on the 
 canvas of my memory and present it as a complete picture to 
 your inward sight. For you have an inward sight, — though, 
 like most people, you live unconscious of that neglected 
 faculty. ' ' 
 
 *' But — who was She?" I repeated obstinately. 
 
 *' 'She' was, I presume, the King's favourite. If she kept 
 her face hidden from you as you complain, I am sorry ! — but 
 I assure you it was not my fault ! Get to bed, Geoffrey, — you 
 look dazed. You take visions badly, — yet they are better than 
 realities, believe me !" 
 
 Somehow I could not answer him. I left him abruptly and 
 went below to try and sleep, but my thoughts were all cruelly 
 confused, and I began to be more than ever overwhelmed with 
 a sense of deepening terror, — a feeling that I was being com- 
 manded, controlled, and, as it were, driven along by a force 
 that had in it something unearthly. It was a most distressing 
 sensation, — it made me shrink, at times, from the look of 
 Lucio's eyes, — now and then indeed I almost cowered before 
 him, so increasingly great was the indefinable dread I had of 
 his presence. It was not so much the strange vision of the 
 ' City Beautiful' that had inspired this in me, — for after all, 
 that was only a trick of hypnotism, as he had said, and as I 
 was content to argue it with myself, — but it was his whole 
 manner that suddenly began to impress me as it had never im- 
 pressed me before. If any change was slowly taking place in 
 my sentiments towards him, so surely it seemed was he changing 
 equally towards me. His imperious ways were more impe- 
 rial, — his sarcasm more sarcastic, — his contempt for mankind 
 more openly displayed and more frequently pronounced. Yet 
 I admired him as much as ever, — I delighted in his conversa- 
 tion, whether it were witty, philosophical, or cynical, — I could 
 not imagine myself without his company. Nevertheless the 
 gloom on my mind deepened, — our Nile trip became infinitely 
 wearisome to me, so much so, that almost before we had 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 435 
 
 got half-way on our journey up the river, I longed to turn 
 back again and wished the voyage at an end. An incident 
 that occurred at Luxor was more than sufficient to strengthen 
 this desire. We had stayed there for several days exploring 
 the district and visiting the ruins of Thebes and Karnac, where 
 they were busy excavating tombs. One afternoon they brought 
 to light a red granite sarcophagus intact, — in it was a richly 
 painted coffin which was opened in our presence, and was found 
 to contain the elaborately adorned mummy of a woman. Lucio 
 proved himself an apt reader of hieroglyphics, and he trans- 
 lated in brief and with glib accuracy the history of the corpse 
 as it was pictured inside the sepulchral shell. 
 
 "A dancer at the court of Queen Amenartes," he an- 
 nounced for the benefit of several interested spectators who with 
 myself stood round the sarcophagus, — ''who, because of her 
 many sins, and secret guilt, which made her life unbearable, 
 and her days full of corruption, died of poison administered 
 by her own hand, according to the King's command, and in 
 presence of the executioners of law. Such is the lady's story, — 
 condensed ; — there are a good many other details of course. 
 She appears to have been only in her twentieth year. Well !" 
 and he smiled as he looked round upon his little audience, — 
 *' we may congratulate ourselves on having progressed since 
 the days of these over-strict ancient Egyptians ! The sins of 
 dancers are not, with us, taken aiL grand serieux ! Shall we 
 see what she is like ?" 
 
 No objection was raised by the authorities concerned in 
 the discoveries, — and I, who had never witnessed the unroll- 
 ing of a mummy before, watched the process with great 
 interest and curiosity. As one by one of the scented wrap- 
 pings were removed, a long tress of nut-brown hair became 
 visible, — then, those who were engaged in the task, used more 
 extreme and delicate precaution, Lucio himself assisting them 
 to uncover the face. As this was done, a kind of sick horror 
 stole over me, — brown and stiff as parchment though the 
 features were, their contour was recognisable, — and when the 
 
436 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 whole countenance was exposed to view I could almost have 
 shrieked aloud the name of ^ Sibyl P For it was like her ! — 
 dreadfully like! — and as the faint half-aromatic half-putrid 
 odours of the unrolled cerements crept towards me on the air, 
 I reeled back giddily and covered my eyes. Irresistibly I was 
 reminded of the subtle French perfume exhaled from Sibyl's 
 garments when I found her dead, — that, and this sickly 
 effluvia were not unlike ! A man standing near me saw me 
 swerve as though about to fall, and caught me on his arm. 
 
 ** The sun is too strong for you I fear?" he said kindly. 
 ** This climate does not suit everybody." 
 
 I forced a smile and murmured something about a passing 
 touch of vertigo, — then, recovering myself I gazed fearfully 
 at Lucio, who was studying the mummy attentively with a 
 curious smile. Presently stooping over the coffin he took 
 out of it a piece of finely wrought gold in the shape of a 
 medallion. 
 
 "This, I imagine must be the fair dancer's portrait," he 
 said, holding it up to the view of all the eager and exclaiming 
 spectators. " Quite a treasure- trove ! An admirable piece of 
 ancient workmanship, besides being the picture of a very lovely 
 woman. Do you not think so, Geoffrey?" 
 
 He handed me the medallion, — and I examined it with 
 deadly and fascinated interest, — the face was exquisitely beau- 
 tiful, — but assuredly it was the face of Sibyl ! 
 
 I never remember how I lived through the rest of that day. 
 At night, as soon as I had an opportunity of speaking to 
 Rimanez alone, I asked him — 
 
 *' Did you see, — did you not recognise? ..." 
 
 '* That the dead Egyptian dancer resembled your late wife ?" 
 he quietly continued. " Yes, — I noticed it at once. But that 
 should not affect you. History repeats itself, — why should 
 not lovely women repeat themselves? Beauty always has its 
 double somewhere, either in the past or future." 
 
 I said no more, — but next morning I was very ill, — so ill 
 that I could not rise from my bed, and passed the hours in 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 437 
 
 restless moaning and irritable pain that was not so much 
 physical as mental. There was a physician resident at the 
 hotel at Luxor, and Lucio, always showing himself particularly 
 considerate for my personal comfort, sent for him at once. 
 He felt my pulse, shook his head, and after much dubious 
 pondering, advised my leaving Egypt immediately. I heard 
 his mandate given with a joy I could scarcely conceal. The 
 yearning I had to get quickly away from this ' land of the old 
 gods' was intense and feverish, — I loathed the vast and awful 
 desert silences, where the Sphinx frowns contempt on the 
 puny littleness of mankind, — where the opened tombs and 
 coffins expose once more to the light of day faces that are 
 the very semblances of those we ourselves have known and 
 loved in our time, — and where painted history tells us of just 
 such things as our modern newspapers chronicle, albeit in 
 different form. Rimanez was ready and willing to carry out 
 the doctor's orders, — and arranged our return to Cairo, and 
 from thence to Alexandria, wath such expedition as left me 
 nothing to desire, and filled me with gratitude for his apparent 
 sympathy. In as short a time as abundance of cash could 
 make possible, we had rejoined 'The Flame,' and were en 
 route ^ as I thought, for France or England. We had not ab- 
 solutely settled our destination, having some idea of coasting 
 along the Riviera, — but my old confidence in Rimanez being 
 now almost restored, I left this to him for decision, sufficiently 
 satisfied in myself that I had not been destined to leave my 
 bones in terror-haunted Egypt. And it was not till I had 
 been about a week or ten days on board, and had made good 
 progress in the recovery of my health, that the beginning of 
 the end of this never-to-be-forgotten voyage was foreshadowed 
 to me in such terrific fashion as nearly plunged me into the 
 darkness of death, — or rather let me now say (having learned 
 my bitter lesson thoroughly), into the fell brilliancy of that 
 Life beyond the tomb which we refuse to recognise or realize 
 till we are whirled into its glorious or awful vortex ! 
 
 One evening, after a bright day of swift and enjoyable sail- 
 
438 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 ing over a smooth and sunlit sea, I retired to rest in my cabin, 
 feeling almost happy. My mind was perfectly tranquil, — my 
 trust in my friend Lucio was again re-established, — and I may 
 add, so was my old arrogant and confident trust in myself. 
 My access to fortune had not, so far, brought me either much 
 joy or distinction, — but it was not too late for me yet to pluck 
 the golden apples of Hesperides. The various troubles I had 
 endured, though of such recent occurrence, began to assume 
 a blurred indistinctness in my mind, as of things long past 
 and done with, — I considered the strength of my financial 
 position again with satisfaction, to the extent of contemplating 
 a second marriage — and that marriage with — Mavis Clare ! 
 No other woman should be my wife, I mentally swore, — she, 
 and she only should be mine ! I foresaw no difficulties in the 
 way, — and full of pleasant dreams and self-delusions I settled 
 myself in my berth, and dropped easily off to sleep. About 
 midnight I awoke vaguely terrified, to see the cabin full of a 
 strong red light and fierce glare. My first dazed impression 
 was that the }acht was on fire, — the next instant I became 
 paralyzed and dumb with horror. Sibyl stood before me ! 
 . . . Sibyl, a wild, strange, tortured writhing figure half nude, 
 waving beckoning arms, and making desperate gestures, — her 
 face was as I had seen it last in death, livid and hideous, . . . 
 her eyes blazed mingled menace, despair, and warning upon 
 me ! Round her a living wreath of flame coiled upwards like 
 a twisted snake, . . . her lips moved as though she strove 
 to speak, but no sound came from them, — and while I yet 
 looked at her, she vanished ! I must have lost consciousness 
 then, — for when I awoke, it was broad day. But this ghastly 
 visitation was only the first of many such, — and at last, every 
 night I saw her thus, sheeted in flame, till I grew well-nigh 
 mad with fear and misery. My torment was indescribable, — 
 yet I said nothing to Lucio, who watched me, as I imagined, 
 narrowly, — I took sleeping-draughts in the hope to procure 
 unbroken rest, but in vain, — always I woke at one particular 
 moment, and always I had to face this fiery phantom of my 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 439 
 
 dead wife, with despair in her eyes and an unuttered warning 
 on her lips. This was not all. One day in the full sunlight 
 of a quiet afternoon, I entered the saloon of the yacht alone, 
 and started back amazed to see my old friend John Carrington 
 seated at the table, pen in hand, casting up accounts. He 
 bent over his papers closely, — his face was furrowed and very 
 pale, — but so life-like was he, so seemingly substantial, that I 
 called him by name, whereat he looked up, — smiled drearily, 
 and was gone ! Trembling in every limb I realized that here 
 was another spectral terror added to the burden of my days ; 
 and sitting down, I tried to rally my scattered forces and 
 reason out what w^as best to be done. There was no doubt 
 I was very ill ; — the.-.e phantoms were the warning of brain- 
 disease. I must endeavour, I thought, to keep myself well 
 under control till I got to England, — there I determined to 
 consult the best physicians, and put myself under their care 
 till I was thoroughly restored. 
 
 " Meanwhile" — I muttered to myself—'' I will say nothing, 
 . . . not even to Lucio. He would only smile, . . . and I 
 should hate him ! . . . " 
 
 I broke off, wondering at this. For was it possible I should 
 ever hate him ? Surely not ! 
 
 That night, by way of a change, I slept in a hammock on 
 deck, hoping to dispel midnight illusions by resting in the 
 open air. But my sufferings were only intensified. I woke as 
 usual, ... to see, not only Sibyl, but also, to my deadly fear, 
 the Three dark Phantoms that had appeared to me in my 
 room in London on the evening of Viscount Lynton's suicide. 
 There they were,— the same, the very same, — only this time all 
 their livid faces were lifted and turned towards me, and though 
 their lips never moved, the word * Misery !' seemed uttered, for 
 I heard it tolling like a funeral bell on the air and across the 
 sea! . . . And Sibyl, with her face of death in the coils of a 
 silent flame, . . . Sibyl, — smiled at me ! a smile of tor- 
 ture and remorse ! . . . God ! — I could endure it no longer ! 
 Leaping from my hammock, I ran towards the vessel's edge, 
 
440 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 . . . one plunge into the cool waves, ... ha ! — there stood 
 Amiel, with his impenetrable dark face and ferret eyes. 
 
 " Can 1 assist you sir?" he inquired deferentially. 
 
 I stared at him, — then burst into a laugh. 
 
 ''Assist me? Why no! — you can do nothing. I want 
 rest, . . . and I cannot sleep here, . . . the air is too close 
 
 and sulphureous, the very stars are burning hot ! . . ." 
 
 I paused, — he regarded me with his usual gravely derisive 
 expression. "I am going down to my cabin," I continued, 
 
 trying to speak more calmly " I shall be a/o/ie there . . . 
 
 perhaps!" Again I laughed wildly and involuntarily, and 
 staggered away from him down the deck-stairs, afraid to look 
 back lest I should see those Three dread Figures of fate fol- 
 lowing me. 
 
 Once safe in my cabin I shut to the door violently, and in 
 feverish haste seized my case of pistols. I took out one and 
 loaded it. My heart was beating furiously, — I kept my eyes 
 fixed on the ground, lest they should encounter the dead eyes 
 of Sibyl. 
 
 " One click of the trigger," I whispered, '' and all is over ! 
 I shall be at peace, — senseless, — sightless and painless. Hor- 
 rors can no longer haunt me, ... I shall sleep !" 
 
 I raised the weapon steadily to my right temple, . . . when 
 suddenly my cabin-door opened, and Lucio looked in. 
 
 ''Pardon me!" he said as he observed my attitude. "I 
 had no idea you were busy ! I will go away. I would not 
 disturb you for the world !" 
 
 His smile had something fiendish in its fine mockery ; — 
 moved with a quick revulsion of feeling I turned the pistol 
 downwards and held its muzzle firmly against the table near 
 me. 
 
 " Ybii say that !" I exclaimed in acute anguish, — "jw/ say 
 it — seeing me thus ! I thought you were my friend !" 
 
 He looked full at me, ... his eyes grew large and lumi- 
 nous with a splendour of scorn, passion and sorrow inter- 
 mingled. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 441 
 
 ''Did you?" and again the terrific smile lit up his pale 
 features, — " you were mistaken ! / am your E?tef?iy /' ' 
 
 A dreadful silence followed. Something lurid and un- 
 earthly in his expression appalled me, ... I trembled and 
 grew cold with fear. Mechanically I replaced the pistol in its 
 
 case, then I gazed up at him with a vacant wonder and 
 
 wild piteousness, seeing that his dark and frowning figure 
 seemed to increase in stature, towering above me like the 
 gigantic Shadow of a storm-cloud ! My blood froze with an 
 unnamable sickening terror, . . . then, thick darkness veiled 
 my sight, and I dropped down senseless ! 
 
 XL 
 
 Thunder and wild tumult, — the glare of lightning, — the 
 shattering roar of great waves leaping mountains high and 
 hissing asunder in mid-air, — to this fierce riot of savage ele- 
 ments let loose in a whirling boisterous dance of death, I woke 
 at last with a convulsive shock. Staggering to my feet I stood 
 in the black obscurity of my cabin, trying to rally my scat- 
 tered forces, — the electric lamps were extinguished, and the 
 lightning alone illumined the sepulchral darkness. Frantic 
 shoutings echoed above me on deck, — fiend-like yells that 
 sounded now like triumph, now like despair, and again like 
 menace, — the yacht leaped to and fro like a hunted stag amid 
 the furious billows, and every frightful crash of thunder threat- 
 ened, as it seemed, to split her in twain. The wind howled 
 like a devil in torment, — it screamed and moaned and sobbed 
 as though endowed with a sentient body that suffered acutest 
 agony, — anon it rushed downwards with an angry swoop as of 
 wide-flapping wings, and at each raging gust I thought the ves- 
 sel must surely founder. Forgetting everything but immediate 
 personal danger, I tried to open my door. It was locked out- 
 side 1 — I was a prisoner ! My indignation at this discovery 
 
442 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 exceeded every other feeling, and beating with both hands on 
 the wooden panels, I called, I shouted, I threatened, I swore, 
 — all in vain ! Thrown down twice by the topsy-turvy lurch- 
 ing of the yacht, I still kept up a desperate hammering and 
 calling, striving to raise my voice above the distracting pan- 
 demonium of noise that seemed to possess the ship from end 
 to end, but all to no purpose, — and finally, hoarse and ex- 
 hausted, I stopped and leaned against the unyielding door to 
 recover breath and strength. The storm appeared to be in- 
 creasing in force and clamour, — the lightning was well-nigh 
 incessant, and the clattering thunder followed each flash so 
 instantaneously as to leave no doubt but that it was immedi- 
 ately above us. I listened, — and presently heard a frenzied 
 cry — 
 
 ''Breakers ahead!" This was followed by peals of dis- 
 cordant laughter. Terrified, I strained my ears for every 
 sound, — and all at once someone spoke to me quite closely, 
 as though the very darkness around me had found a tongue. 
 
 "Breakers ahead! Throughout the world, storm and 
 danger and doom ! Doom and Death ! — but afterwards — 
 Life!" 
 
 A certain intonation in these words filled me with such 
 frantic horror that I fell on my knees in abject misery and 
 almost prayed to the God I had through all my life disbelieved 
 in and denied. But I was too mad with fear to find words ; — 
 the dense blackness, — the horrid uproar of the wind and sea, 
 — the infuriated and confused shouting, — all this was to my 
 mind as though hell itself had broken loose, and I could only 
 kneel dumbly and tremble. Suddenly a swirling sound as of 
 an approaching monstrous whirlwind made itself heard above 
 all the rest of the din, — a sound that gradually resolved itself 
 into a howling chorus of thousands of voices sweeping along 
 on the gusty blast, fierce cries were mingled with the jar- 
 ring thunder, and I leapt erect as I caught the words of the 
 clangorous shout — 
 
 " Ave Sathanas ! Ave !" 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 443 
 
 Rigidly upright, with limbs stiffening for sheer terror, I 
 stood listening, — the waves seemed to roar " Ave Sathanas !" 
 — the wind shrieked it to the thunder, — the lightning wrote it 
 in a snaky line of fire on the darkness, "Ave Sathanas!" 
 My brain swam round and grew full to bursting, — I was 
 going mad, — raving mad surely ! — or why should I thus 
 distinctly hear such unmeaning sounds as these? With a 
 sudden access of superhuman force I threw the whole weight 
 of my body against the door of my cabin in a delirious effort 
 to break it open, — it yielded slightly, — and I prepared myself 
 for another rush and similar attempt, — when all at once it was 
 flung widely back, admitting a stream of pale light, and Lucio, 
 wrapped in heavy shrouding garments, confronted me. 
 
 ''Follow me, Geoffrey Tempest," he said in low clear 
 tones. " Your time has come !" 
 
 As he spoke, all self-possession deserted me, — the terrors of 
 the storm, and now the terror of his presence, overwhelmed 
 my strength, and I stretched out my hands to him appealingly, 
 unknowing what I did or said. 
 
 '' For God's sake . . . !" I began wildly. 
 
 He silenced me by an imperious gesture. 
 
 "Spare me your prayers! For God's sake, for your own 
 sake, and for mine ! Follow !" 
 
 He moved before me like a black phantom in the pale 
 strange light surrounding him, — and I, dazzled, dazed and 
 terror-stricken, trod in his steps closely, moved, as it seemed, 
 by some volition not my own, till I found myself alone with 
 him in the saloon of the yacht, with the waves hissing up 
 against the windows like live snakes ready to sting. Trem- 
 bling and scarcely able to stand, I sank on a chair, — he 
 turned round and looked at me for a moment meditatively. 
 Then he threw open one of the windows, — a huge wave 
 dashed in and scattered its bitter salt spray upon me where I 
 sat, — but I heeded nothing, — my agonized looks were fixed 
 on Him, — the Being I had so long made the companion of my 
 days. Raising his hand with a gesture of authority he said — 
 
444 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 *' Back, ye devils of the sea and wind ! — ye which are not 
 God's elements, but My servants, the unrepenting souls of 
 men ! Lost in the waves, or whirled in the hurricane, which- 
 ever ye have made your destiny, get hence and cease your 
 clamour ! This hour is Mine !" 
 
 Panic-stricken I heard, — aghast I saw the great billows that 
 had shouldered up in myriads against the vessel, sink sud- 
 denly, — the yelling wind dropped, silenced, — the yacht glided 
 along with a smooth even motion as though on a tranquil 
 inland lake, — and almost before I could realize it, the light 
 of the full moon beamed forth brilliantly and fell in a broad 
 stream across the floor of the saloon. But in the very cessa- 
 tion of the storm the words ''Ave Sathanas !" trembled as 
 it were upwards to my ears from the underworld of the sea, 
 and died away in distance like a parting echo of thunder. 
 Then Lucio faced me, — with what a countenance of sublime 
 and awful beauty ! 
 
 "Do you know Me now, man whom my millions of dross 
 have made wretched? — or do you need me to tell you WHO 
 lam?" 
 
 My lips moved, — but I could not speak ; the dim and 
 dreadful thought that was dawning on my mind seemed as 
 yet too frenzied, too outside the boundaries of material sense 
 for mortal utterance. 
 
 " Be dumb, — be motionless ! — but hear and feel !" he con- 
 tinued. " By the supreme power of God, — for there is no 
 other Power in any world or any heaven, — I control and com- 
 mand you at this moment, your own will being set aside for 
 once as naught. I choose you as one out of millions to learn 
 in this life the lesson that all must learn hereafter ; — let every 
 faculty of your intelligence be ready to receive that which I 
 shall impart, — and teach it to your fellow-men if you have a 
 conscience as you have a Soul !" 
 
 Again I strove to speak, — he seemed so human, — so much 
 my friend still, though he had declared himself my Enemy, 
 and yet . . . what was that lambent radiance encircling 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 445 
 
 his brows ? — that burning glory steadily deepening and flashing 
 from his eyes ? 
 
 **You are one of the world's 'fortunate' men," he went 
 on, surveying me straightly and pitilessly. ''So at least this 
 world judges you, because you can buy its good-will. But the 
 Powers that govern all worlds do not judge you by such a 
 standard, — you cannot buy their good-will, not though all the 
 Churches should offer to sell it you. They regard you as you 
 a7'e, stripped soul-naked, — not as you sceju. They behold in 
 you a shameless egoist, persistently engaged in defacing their 
 divine Image of Immortality, — and for that sin there is no 
 excuse and no escape but Punishment. Whosoever prefers 
 Self to God, and in the arrogance of that Self, presumes to 
 doubt and deny God, invites another power to compass his 
 destinies, — the power of Evil, made evil and kept evil by the 
 disobedience and wickedness of Man alone, — that power whom 
 mortals call Satan, Prince of Darkness, — but whom once the 
 angels knew as Lucifer, Prince of Light!" . . . He broke 
 off, — paused, — and his flaming regard fell full upon me. " Do 
 you know Me, . . . now?" 
 
 I sat a rigid figure of fear, dumbly staring, . . . was this 
 man, for he seemed man, mad, that he should thus hint at a 
 thing too wild and terrible for speech ? 
 
 " If you do not know Me, — if you do not feel in your con- 
 victed soul that you are aware of Me, — it is because you -will 
 not know ! Thus do I come upon men, when they rejoice in 
 their wilful self-blindness and vanity ! — thus do I become their 
 constant companion, humouring them in such vices as they 
 best love ! — thus do I take on the shape that pleases them, 
 and fit myself to their humours ! They make me what I am ; 
 — they mould my very form to the fashion of their flitting 
 time. Through all their changing and repeating eras, they 
 have found strange names and titles for me, — and their 
 creeds and churches have made a monster of me, — as though 
 imagination could compass any worse monster than the Devil 
 in Man!" 
 
 38 
 
446 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 Frozen and mute I heard, . . . the dead silence, and his 
 resonant voice vibrating through it, seemed more terrific than 
 the wildest storm. 
 
 ** You, — God's work, — endowed as every conscious atom of 
 His creation is endowed, — with the infinite germ of immor- 
 tality ; — you, absorbed in the gathering together of such perish- 
 able trash as you conceive good for yourself on this planet, — 
 vou dare, in the puny reach of your mortal intelligence to 
 dispute and question the everlasting things invisible ! You, 
 by the Creator's will, are permitted to see the Natural Uni- 
 verse, — but in mercy to you, the veil is drawn across the 
 Super-natural ! For such things as exist there would break 
 your puny earth-brain as a frail shell is broken by a passing 
 wheel, — and because you cannot see, you doubt ! You doubt 
 not only the surpassing Love and Wisdom that keeps you in 
 ignorance till you shall be strong enough to bear full knowl- 
 edge, but you doubt the very fact of such another universe 
 itself! Arrogant fool! — your hours are counted by Super- 
 natural time, — your days are compassed by Super-natural law, 
 — your every thought, word, deed and look must go to make 
 up the essence and shape of your being in Super-natural life 
 hereafter, — and what you have been in your Soul here, must 
 and shall be the aspect of your Soul there ! That law knows 
 no changing !" 
 
 The light about his face deepened, — he went on in clear 
 accents that vibrated with the strangest music. 
 
 "■ Men make their own choice and form their own futures," 
 he said. '' And never let them dare to say they are not free 
 to choose ! From the uttermost reaches of high Heaven the 
 Spirit of God descended to them as Man, — from the utter- 
 most depths of lowest Hell, I, the Spirit of Rebellion, come, 
 — equally as Man ! But the God-in-Man was rejected and 
 slain, — I, the Devil-in-Man live on, forever accepted and 
 adored ! Man's choice this is — not God's or mine ! Were this 
 self-seeking human race once to reject me utterly, I should 
 exist no more as I am, — nor would they exist who are with me. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 447 
 
 Listen, while I trace your career ! — it is a copy of the lives of 
 many men ; — and judge how little the powers of Heaven can 
 have to do with you ! — how much the powers of Hell !" 
 
 I shuddered involuntarily ; — dimly I began to realize the 
 awful nature of this unearthly interview. 
 
 ''You, Geoffrey Tempest, are a man in whom a Thought 
 of God was once implanted, — that subtle fire or note of 
 music out of heaven, called Genius. So great a gift is rarely 
 bestowed on any mortal, — and woe betide him, who having 
 received it, holds it as of mere personal value, to be used for 
 Self and not for God ! Divine laws moved you gently in the 
 right path of study, — the path of suffering, of disappoint- 
 ment, of self-denial and poverty, — for only by these things is 
 humanity made noble, and trained in the ways of perfection. 
 Through pain and enduring labour the soul is armed for battle, 
 and strengthened for conquest. For it is more difficult to 
 bear a victory well, than to endure many buffetings of war ! 
 But you, — you resented Heaven's good-will towards you, — the 
 Valley of Humiliation suited you not at all. Poverty mad- 
 dened you, — starvation sickened you. Yet poverty is better 
 than arrogant wealth, — and starvation is healthier than self- 
 indulgence ! You could not wait, — your own troubles seemed 
 to you enormous, — your own efforts laudable and marvellous, 
 — the troubles and efforts of others were nothing to you ; — 
 you were ready to curse God and die. Compassionating your- 
 self, admiring yourself and none other, with a heart full of 
 bitterness, and a mouth full of cursing, you were eager to make 
 quick havoc of both your genius and your soul. For this 
 cause, your millions of money came and, — so did I r' 
 
 Standing now full height he confronted me, — his eyes were 
 less brilliant, but, they reflected in their dark splendour a 
 passionate scorn and sorrow. 
 
 " O fool ! — in my very coming I warned you ! — on the very 
 day we met I told you I was not what I seemed ! God's ele- 
 ments crashed a menace when we made our compact of friend- 
 ship ! And I, — when I saw the faint last struggle of the not 
 
448 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 quite torpid soul in you to resist and distrust me, did I not 
 urge you to let that better instinct have its way ? You, — ^jester 
 with the Supernatural ! — you, — base scoffer at Christ ! A 
 thousand hints have been given you, — a thousand chances of 
 doing such good as must have forced me to leave you, — as 
 would have brought me a welcome respite from sorrow, — a 
 moment's cessation of torture !" 
 
 His brows contracted in a sombre frown, — he was silent a 
 moment, — then he resumed — 
 
 ** Now learn from me the weaving of the web you so will- 
 ingly became entangled in ! Your millions of money were 
 Mine ! — the man that left you heir to them, was a wretched 
 miser, evil to the soul's core ! By virtue of his own deeds he 
 and his dross were Mine ! and maddened by the sheer accumu- 
 lation of world's wealth, he slew himself in a fit of frenzy. 
 He lives again in a new and much more realistic phase of 
 existence, and knows the actual value of mankind's cash- 
 payments ! This you have yet to learn ! ' ' 
 
 He advanced a step or two, fixing his eyes more steadily 
 upon me. 
 
 "Wealth is like Genius, — bestowed not for personal grati- 
 fication, but for the benefit of those who lack it. What have 
 you done for your fellow-men ? The very book you wrote 
 and launched upon the tide of bribery and corruption, was 
 published with the intention to secure applause for Yourself, 
 not to give help or comfort to others. Your marriage was 
 prompted by Lust and Ambition, and in the fair Sensuality 
 you wedded, you got your deserts ! No love was in the 
 union,— it was sanctified by the blessing of Fashion, but 
 not the blessing of God. You have done without God, so 
 you fhink ! Every act of your existence has been for the 
 pleasure and advancement of Yourself, — and this is why I 
 have chosen you out to hear and see what few mortals 
 ever hear or see till they have passed the dividing-line 
 between this life and the next. I have chosen you because 
 you are a type of the apparently respected and unblamable 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 449 
 
 man; — you are not what the world calls a criminal, — you 
 have murdered no one, — )ou have stolen no neighbour's 
 goods, — your unchastities and adulteries are those of every 
 ' fashionable' vice-monger, — and your blasphemies against the 
 Divine are no worse than those of the most approved modern 
 magazine-contributors. You are guilty nevertheless of the 
 chief crime of the age, — Sensual Egotism, — the blackest sin 
 known to either angels or devils, because hopeless. The 
 murderer may repent, and save a hundred lives to make up 
 for the one he snatched, — the thief may atone with honest 
 labour, — the adulterer may scourge his flesh and do grim 
 penance for late pardon, — the blasphemer may retrieve his 
 blasphemies, — but for the Egoist there is no chance of whole- 
 some penitence, since to himself he is perfect, and counts 
 his Creator as somew^hat inferior ! This present time of the 
 world breathes Egotism, — the taint of Self, the hideous wor- 
 ship of money corrodes all life, all thought, all feeling. For 
 vulgar cash, the fairest and noblest scenes of Nature are 
 wantonly destroyed without protest,-'' — the earth, created in 
 beauty, is made hideous, — parents and children, wives and 
 husbands are ready to slay each other for a little gold, — 
 Heaven is barred out, — God is denied, — and Destruction 
 darkens over this planet, known to all angels as the Sorrow^ful 
 Star! Be no longer blind, millionaire whose millions have 
 ministered to Self without relieving sorrow ! — for when the 
 w^orld is totally corrupt, — when Self is dominant, — when cun- 
 ning supersedes honesty, — when gold is man's chief ambi- 
 tion, — when purity is condemned, — when poets teach lewd- 
 ness, and scientists blasphemy, — when love is mocked, and 
 God forgotten, — the End is near ! I take My part in that 
 end ! — for the souls of mankind are not done with when they 
 leave their fleshly tenements ! When this planet is destroyed 
 as a bubble broken in the air, the souls of men and women 
 
 * Witness the destruction of Foyers, to the historical shame and disgrace 
 of Scotland. — AUTHOR. 
 
 dd 38* 
 
450 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 live on, — as the soul of the woman you loved lives on, — as 
 the soul of the mother who bore her lives on, — aye ! — as all 
 My worshippers live on through a myriad worlds, a myriad 
 phases, till they learn to shape their destinies for Heaven ! 
 And I, with them live on, in many shapes, in many ways ! — 
 when they return to God cleansed and perfect, so shall I 
 return ! — but not till then !" 
 
 He paused again, — and I heard a faint sighing sound every- 
 where as of wailing voices, and the name ** Ahrimanes !" was 
 breathed suddenly upon the silence. I started up listening, 
 
 every nerve strained Ahrimanes? — or Rimanez? I gazed 
 
 fearfully at him, . . . always beautiful, his countenance was 
 now sublime, . . . and his eyes shone with a lustrous flame. 
 
 *'You thought me friend!" he said. *'You should have 
 known me foe ! For everyone who flatters a man for his vir- 
 tues, or humours him in his vices, is that man's worst enemy, 
 whether demon or angel ! But you judged me a fitting com- 
 rade, — hence I was bound to serve you, — I and my followers 
 with me. You had no perception to realize this, — you, supreme 
 scorner of the Supernatural ! Little did you think of the terri- 
 fying agencies that worked the wonders of your betrothal feast 
 at Willovvsmere ! Little did you dream that fiends prepared 
 the costly banquet and poured out the luscious wine !" 
 
 At this, a smothered groan of horror escaped me, — I looked 
 wildly round me, longing to find some deep grave of oblivious 
 rest wherein to fall. 
 
 "Aye!" he continued — ''The festival was fitted to the time 
 of the world to day ! — Society, gorging itself blind and sense- 
 less, and attended by a retinue from Hell ! My servants 
 looked like men ! — for truly there is little difference 'twixt 
 man and devil. 'Twas a brave gathering I — England has never 
 seen so strange a one in all her annals !" 
 
 The sighing, wailing cries increased in loudness, — my limbs 
 shook under me, and all power of thought was paralyzed in 
 my brain. He bent his piercing looks upon me with a new 
 expression of infinite wonder, pity and disdain. 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 451 
 
 *'What a grotesque creation you men have made of Me !" 
 he said — "as grotesque as your conception of God! With 
 what trifling human attributes you have endowed me ! Know 
 you not that the changeless, yet ever-changing Essence of 
 Immortal Life can take a million million shapes and yet 
 remain unalterably the same ? Were I as hideous as your 
 Churches figure me, — could the eternal beauty with which all 
 angels are endowed, ever change to such loathsomeness as 
 haunts mankind's distorted imaginations, perchance it would 
 be well, — for none would make of me their comrade, and 
 none would cherish me as friend. As fits each separate human 
 nature, so seems my image, — for thus is my fate and punish- 
 ment commanded. Yet even in this mask of man I wear, men 
 own me their superior, — think you not that when the Supreme 
 Spirit of God wore that same mask on earth, men did not 
 know Him for their Master ? Yea, they did know, — and know- 
 ing, murdered Him, — as they ever strive to murder all divine 
 things as soon as their divinity is recognised. Face to face 
 I stood with Him upon the mountain-top, and there fulfilled 
 my vow of temptation. Worlds and kingdoms, supremacies 
 
 and powers ! what were they to the Ruler of them all ! 
 
 *Get thee hence, Satan !' said the golden-sounding Voice, — 
 ah ! — glorious behest ! — happy respite ! — for I reached the 
 very gate of Heaven that night, and heard the angels sing !" 
 
 His accents sank to an infinitely mournful cadence. 
 
 ''What have your teachers done with Me and my eternal 
 sorrows?" he went on. " Have not they, and the unthinking 
 churches, proclaimed a lie against me, saying that I rejoice in 
 evil? Oh, man to whom, by God's will and because the 
 world's end draws nigh, I unveil a portion of the mystery of 
 my doom, learn now once and for all, that there is no possible 
 joy in evil ! It is the despair and the discord of the Uni- 
 verse,— it is Man's creation, — My torment, — God's sorrow! 
 Every sin of every human being adds weight to my torture, 
 and length to my doom, — yet my oath against the world must 
 be kept. I have sworn to tempt, — to do my uttermost to destroy 
 
452 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 mankind, — but man has not sworn to yield to my tempting. 
 He is free ! — let him resist, and 1 depart ; — let him accept me, 
 I remain ! Eternal Justice has spoken, — Humanity, through 
 the teaching of God made human, must work out its own 
 redemption, — and Mine!" 
 
 Here, suddenly advancing, he stretched out his hand, — his 
 figure grew taller, vaster and more majestic. 
 
 '' Come with me now !" he said in a low penetrating voice 
 that sounded sweet, yet menacing. *' Come ! — for the veil is 
 down for you to-night ! You shall understand wiih WHOM 
 you have dwelt so long in your shifting cloud-castle of life ! — 
 and in What company you have sailed perilous seas ! — one 
 who, proud and rebellious, like you, errs less in that he owns 
 GOD as his Master!" 
 
 At these words a thundering crash assailed my ears, — all 
 the windows on either side of the saloon flew open, and 
 showed a strange glitter as of steely spears pointed aloft to 
 the moon, . . . then, , . . half-fainting, I felt myself 
 grasped and lifted suddenly and forcibly upwards, . . . and 
 in another moment found myself on the deck of ' The 
 Flame,' held fast as a prisoner in the fierce grip of hands 
 invisible. Raising my eyes in deadly despair, — prepared for 
 hellish tortures, and with a horrible sense of conviction in my 
 soul that it was too late to cry out to God for mercy, — I saw 
 around me a frozen world ! — a world that seemed as if the 
 sun had never shone upon it. Thick glassy-green walls of 
 ice pressed round the vessel on all sides and shut her in 
 between their inflexible barriers, — fantastic palaces, pinnacles, 
 towers, bridges and arches of ice, formed in their architectural 
 outlines and groupings the semblance of a great city, — over 
 all the coldly glistening peaks the round moon, emerald-pale, 
 looked down, — and standing opposite to me against the mast, 
 I beheld, . . . not Lucio, . . . but an Angel ! 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 453 
 
 XLI 
 
 Crowned with a mystic radiance as of trembling stars of 
 fire, that sublime Figure towered between me and the moonlit 
 sky ; the face, austerely grand and beautiful, shone forth 
 luminously pale, — the eyes were full of unquenchable pain, 
 unspeakable remorse, unimaginable despair ! The features 
 1 had known so long and seen day by day in familiar inter- 
 course were the same, — the same, yet transfigured with ethereal 
 splendour, while shadowed by an everlasting sorrow ! Bodily 
 sensations I was scarcely conscious of; — only the Soul of 
 me, hitherto dormant, was awake and palpitating with fear. 
 Gradually I became aware that others were around me, and 
 looking, I saw a dense crowd of faces, wild and wonderful, — 
 imploring eyes were turned upon me in piteous or stern agony, 
 — and pallid hands were stretched towards me more in appeal 
 than menace. And I beheld, as I gazed, the air darkening 
 and anon lightening wiih the shadow and the brightness of 
 wings ! — vast pinions of crimson flame began to unfurl and 
 spread upwards all round the ice-bound vessel, — upwards 
 till their glowing tips seemed well-nigh to touch the moon. 
 And He, my Foe, who leaned against the mast, became 
 likewise encircled with these shafted pinions of burning 
 rose, which, like finely-webbed clouds coloured by a strong 
 sunset, streamed outwards flaringly from his dark Form and 
 sprang aloft in a blaze of scintillant glory. And a Voice 
 infinitely sad, yet infinitely sweet, struck solemn music frojii 
 the frozen silence. 
 
 '' Steer onward, Amiel ! Onward, to the boundaries of the 
 world!" 
 
 With every spiritual sense aroused I glanced towards the 
 steersman's wheel, — was M^/ Amiel? . . . that Being, stern as 
 a figure of deadliest fate, with sable wings and tortured coun- 
 
454 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 tenance? If so, I knew him for a fiend in very truth, if 
 burning horror and endless shame can so transfigure the soul 
 of man ! A history of crime was written in his anguished 
 looks, . . . what secret torment racked him no living mortal 
 might dare to guess ! With pallid skeleton hands he moved 
 the wheel ; — and as it turned, the walls of ice around us 
 began to split with a noise of thunder. 
 
 ''Onward, Amiel!" said the great sad Voice again — 
 " Onward where never man hath trod, — steer on to the 
 world's end !" 
 
 The crowd of weird and terrible faces grew denser, — the 
 flaming and darkening of wings became thicker than driving 
 storm-clouds rent by lightning, — wailing cries, groans and 
 dreary sounds of sobbing echoed about me on all sides, . . . 
 again the shattering ice roared like an earthquake under the 
 waters, . . . and, unhindered by her frozen prison-walls, the 
 ship moved on ! Dizzily, and as one in a mad dream I saw 
 the great glittering bergs rock and bend forward, — the massive 
 ice-city shook to its foundations, . . . glistening pinnacles 
 dropped and vanished, . . . towers lurched over, broke and 
 plunged into the sea, — huge mountains of ice split up like fine 
 glass, yawning asunder with a green glare in the moonlight as 
 the ' Flame,' propelled, so it seemed, by the demon-wings of 
 hef terrific crew, cut through the frozen passage with the 
 sharpness of a sword and the swiftness of an arrow ! Whither 
 were we bound ? I dared not think, — I deenied myself dead. 
 The world I saw was not the world I knew, — I believed I was 
 in some spirit-land beyond the grave, whose secrets I should 
 presently realize perchance too well ! On, — on we went, — I 
 keeping my strained sight fixed for the most part on the 
 supreme Shape that always confronted me, — that Angel-Foe 
 whose eyes were wild with an eternity of sorrows ! Face to 
 face with such Immortal Despair, I stood confounded and slain 
 forever in my own regard, — a worthless atom, meriting naught 
 but annihilation. The wailing cries and groans had ceased, 
 — and we sped on in an awful silence, — while countless trage- 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 455 
 
 dies, unnamable griefs, were urged upon me in the dumb 
 eloquence of the dreary faces round me, and the expressive 
 teaching of their terrific eyes. 
 
 Soon the barriers of ice were passed, — and the ' Flame' 
 floated out beyond them into a warm inland sea, calm as a 
 lake, and bright as silver in the broad radiance of the moon. 
 On either side were undulating shores, rich with lofty and 
 luxuriant verdure, — I saw the distant hazy outline of dusky 
 purple hills, — I heard the little waves plashing against hidden 
 rocks, and murmuring upon the sand. Delicious odours filled 
 the air ; — a gentle breeze blew, . . . was this the lost Para- 
 dise ? — this semi -tropic zone concealed behind a continent of 
 ice and snow ? Suddenly, from the tops of the dark branching 
 trees, came floating the sound of a bird's singing, — and so 
 sweet was the song, so heart-whole was the melody, that my 
 aching eyes filled with tears. Beautiful memories rushed upon 
 me, — the value and graciousness of life, — life on the kindly 
 sunlit earth, — seemed very dear to my soul ! Life's oppor- 
 tunities, — its joys, its wonders, its blessings, all showered down 
 upon a thankless race by a loving Creator,— these appeared to 
 me all at once as marvellous ! Oh, for another chance of such 
 life ! — to redeem the past, — to gather up the wasted gems of 
 lost moments, — to live as a man should live, in accord with 
 the will of God and in brotherhood with his fellow-men ! . . . 
 The unknown bird sang on in a cadence like that of a mavis 
 in spring, only more tunefully, — surely no other woodland 
 songster ever sang half so well ! And as its dulcet notes 
 dropped roundly one by one upon the mystic silence, I saw a 
 pale Creature move out from amid the shadowing of black and 
 scarlet wings, —a white woman-shape, clothed in her own long 
 hair. Slowly she glided to the vessel's edge, and there she 
 leaned, with anguished face upturned, — it was the face of 
 Sibyl ! And even while I looked upon her, she cast herself 
 wildly down upon the deck and wept. My soul was stirred 
 within me, ... I saw in very truth all that she might have 
 been, — I realized what an angel a lit.le guiding love and 
 
456 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 patience might have made her, . . . and at last I pitied her ! 
 I never pitied her before ! 
 
 And now many familiar faces shone upon me like white 
 stars in a mist of rain, — all faces of the dead, — all marked with 
 unquenchable remorse and sorrow. One figure passed before 
 me dreamily, in fetters glistening with a weight of gold, — I 
 knew him for my college friend of olden days; another, 
 crouching on the ground in fear, I recognised as him who 
 had staked his last possession at play, even to his immortal 
 soul, — I even saw my father's face, worn and aghast with grief, 
 — and trembled lest the sacred beauty of her who had died to 
 give me birth should find a place among these direful horrors. 
 
 But no ! — thank God I never saw her ! her spirit had not 
 
 lost its way to Heaven ! 
 
 Again my eyes reverted to the Mover of this mystic scene, 
 — that Fallen Splendour whose majestic shape now seemed to 
 fill both earth and sky. A fiery glory blazed about him, . . . 
 he raised his hand, . . . the ship stopped, — and the dark 
 Steersman rested motionless on the wheel. Round us the 
 moonlit landscape was spread like a glittering dream of fairy- 
 land, — and still the unknown bird of God sang on with such 
 entrancing tenderness as must have soothed hell's tortured 
 souls. 
 
 " Lo, here we pause !" said the commanding Voice. "Here, 
 where the distorted shape of Man hath never cast a shadow ! — 
 here, — where the arrogant mind of Man hath never conceived 
 a sin ! — here, where the godless greed of Man hath never 
 defaced a beauty, or slain a woodland thing ! — here, the last 
 spot on earth left untainted by Man's presence ! Here is the 
 world's end ! — when this land is found and these shores pro- 
 faned, — when Mammon plants its foot upon this soil, — then 
 dawns the Judgment-Day ! But, until then, . . . here, where 
 only God doth work perfection, angels may look down undis- 
 mayed, and even fiends find rest !" 
 
 A solemn sound of music surged upon the air, — and I who 
 had been one as in chains, bound by invisible bonds and unable 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 457 
 
 to stir, was suddenly liberated. Fully conscious of freedom I 
 still faced the dark gigantic figure of my foe, — for his lumi- 
 nous eyes were now upon me, and his penetrating voice ad- 
 dressed me only. 
 
 ''Man, deceive not thyself!" he said. ''Think not the 
 terrors of this night are the delusion of a dream or the snare 
 of a vision ! Thou art awake, not sleeping, — thou art flesh as 
 well as spirit ! This place is neither hell nor heaven nor any 
 s] ace between, — it is a corner of thine own world on which 
 thou livest. Wherefore know from henceforth that the Super- 
 natural Universe in and around the Natural is no lie, but the 
 chief Reality, inasmuch as God surroundeth all ! Fate strikes 
 thine hour, — and in this hour 'tis given thee to choose thy 
 Master. Now, by the will of God, thou seest me as Angel, — 
 but take heed thou forget not that among men I am as Man ! 
 In human form I move with all humanity through endless ages, 
 — to kings and counsellors, to priests and scientists, to think- 
 ers and teachers, to old and young I come in the shape their 
 pride or vice demands, and am as one with all ! Self finds 
 in me another Ego ; — but from the pure in heart, the high in 
 faith, the perfect in intention, I do retreat with joy, offering 
 naught save reverence, demanding naught save prayer ! So am 
 I, — so must I ever be, — till Man of his own will releases and 
 redeems me. Mistake me not, but know me ! — and choose 
 thy Future for truth's sake and not for fear ! Choose and 
 change not in any time hereafter, — this hour, this moment is 
 thy last probation, — choose, I say ! Wilt thou serve Self and 
 Me? or God only?" 
 
 The question seemed thundered on my ears, . . . shudder- 
 ing, I looked from right to left, and saw a gathering crowd of 
 faces, white, wistful, wondering, threatening and imploring, — 
 they pressed about me close, with glistening eyes and lips 
 that moved dumbly. And as they stared upon me I beheld 
 another spectral thing, — the image of Myself! — a poor frail 
 creature, pitiful, ignorant, and undiscerning, — limited in both 
 capacity and intelligence, yet full of strange egotism and still 
 
458 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 stranger arrogance ; every detail of my life was suddenly 
 presented to me as in a magic mirror, and 1 read my own 
 clironicle of j)altry mtellectual pride, vulgar ambition and 
 vulgarer ostentation, — I realized with shame my miserable 
 vices, my puny scorn of God, my effronteries and blasphemies ; 
 and in the sudden strong repulsion and repudiation of my own 
 worthless existence, being and character, I found both voice 
 and speech. 
 
 ''God only!" I cried fervently. ''Annihilation at His 
 hands rather than life without Him ! God only ! I have 
 chosen !" 
 
 My words vibrated passionately on my own ears, . . . and 
 . . . even as they were spoken, the air grew misty with a 
 snowy opalescent radiance, . . . the sable and crimson wings 
 uplifted in such multitudmous array around me, palpitated 
 with a thousand changeful hues, . . . and over the face of my 
 dark Foe a light celestial fell like the smile of dawn ! Awed 
 and afraid I gazed upwards, . . . and there I saw a new and 
 yet more wondrous glory, ... a shining Figure outlined 
 against the sky in such surpassing beauty and vivid brilliancy 
 as made me think the sun itself had risen in vast Angel-shape 
 on rainbow pinions ! And from the brightening heaven there 
 rang a silver voice, clear as a clarion-call, — 
 
 '^ Arise, Lucifer, Son of the Morning! One soul rejects 
 thee; — one hour of joy is granted thee ! Hence, a?id arise !' ' 
 
 Earth, air, and sea blazed suddenly into fiery gold, — blinded 
 and stunned, I was seized by compelling hands and held firmly 
 down by a force invisible, . , . the yacht was slowly sinking 
 under me ! Overwhelmed with unearthly terrors, my lips yet 
 murmured — 
 
 "God! God only !" The heavens changed from gold to 
 crimson — anon to shining blue, . . . and against this mass of 
 wavering colour that seemed to make a jewelled archway of the 
 sky, I saw the Form of him whom I had known as man, swiftly 
 ascend god-like, — with flaming pinions and upturned glorious 
 visage, like a vision of light in darkness ! Around him 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 459 
 
 clustered a million winged shapes, — but He, supreme, majes- 
 tic, wonderful, towered high above them all, a very king of 
 splendour, the glory round his brows resembling meteor-fires 
 in an Arctic midnight, — his eyes, twin stars, ablaze with such 
 great rapture as seemed half agony ! Breathless and giddy, I 
 strained my sight to follow him as he fled ; . . . and heard 
 the musical calling of strange sweet voices everywhere, from 
 east to west, from north to south. 
 
 " Lucifer ! Beloved and unforgotten ! Lucifer, Son of the 
 morning! Arise! . . . arise! ..." 
 
 With all my remaining strength I strove to watch the van- 
 ishing upwards of that subhme Luminance that now filled the 
 visible universe, — the demon-ship was still sinking steadily, 
 . . . invisible hands still held me down, ... I was falling, 
 — falling, — into unimaginable depths, . . . when another 
 voice, till then unheard, solemn yet sweet, spoke aloud — 
 
 "Bind him hand and foot and cast him into the outermost 
 darkness of the world ! There let him find My Light ! ' ' 
 
 I heard, — yet felt no fear. "God only !" I said, as I sank 
 into the vast profound, — and lo ! while the words yet trembled 
 on my lips, I saw the sun ! The sweet earth's sun ! — the 
 kindly orb familiar, — the lamp of God's protection, — its 
 golden rim came glittering upwards in the east, — higher and 
 higher it rose, making a golden background for that mighty 
 Figure whose darkly luminous wings now seemed like sable 
 storm-clouds stretched wide across the horizon ! Once more 
 . . . yet once, . . . the Angel-visage bent its warning looks 
 on me, ... I saw the anguished smile, . . . the great eyes 
 burning with immortal sorrows ! . . . then I was plunged 
 forcibly downwards and thrust into an abysmal grave of frozen 
 cold. 
 
46o THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 XLII 
 
 The blue sea, — the blue sky ! — and God's sunshine over 
 all ! To this I woke, after a long period of unconsciousness, 
 and found myself afloat on a wide ocean, fast bound to a 
 wooden spar. So strongly knotted were my bonds that I 
 could not stir either hand or foot, . . . and after one or two 
 ineffectual struggles to move I gave up the attempt, and lay 
 submissively resigned to my fate, face upturned, and gazing 
 at the infinite azure depths above me, while the heaving 
 breath of the sea rocked me gently to and fro like an infant 
 in its mother's arms. Alone with God and Nature, I, a poor 
 human wreck, drifted, — lost, yet found ! Lost on this vast 
 sea which soon should serve my body as a sepulchre, . . . 
 but found, inasmuch as I was fully conscious of the existence 
 and awakening of the Immortal Soul within me, — that divine, 
 actual and imperishable essence, which now I recognised as 
 being all that is valuable in a man in the sight of his Creator. 
 I was to die soon and surely ; — this I thought as the billows 
 swayed me in their huge cradle, running in foamy ripples 
 across my bound body, and dashing cool spray upon my 
 brows, — what could I do now, doomed and helpless as I was, 
 to retrieve my wasted past? Nothing! save repent, — and 
 could repentance at so late an hour fit the laws of eternal 
 justice? Humbly and sorrowfully I considered, . . to me 
 had been given a terrific and unprecedented experience of the 
 awful Reality of the Spirit-world around us, — and now I was 
 cast out on the sea as a thing worthless, I felt that the brief 
 time remaining to me of life in this present sphere was indeed 
 my 'Mast probation," as that Supernatural Wonder, the de- 
 clared Enemy of mankind, whom still in my thoughts I called 
 Lucio, had declared. 
 
 "If I dared, — after a life's denial and blasphemy, — turn to 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 461 
 
 Christ!" I said, — "would He, — the Divine Brother and 
 Friend of man, — reject me?" 
 
 I whispered the question to the sky and sea, . . . solemn 
 silence seemed to invest the atmosphere, and marvellous 
 calm. No other answer came than this, ... a deep and 
 charmed peace, that insensibly stole over my fretting con- 
 science, my remorseful soul, my aching heart, my tired mind. 
 I remembered certain words heard long ago and lightly for- 
 gotten. ^^ Him who comcth unto Ale will I in no wise cast 
 oiit.^^ Looking up to the clear heavens and radiant sun, I 
 smiled ; and with a complete abandonment of myself and my 
 fears to the Divine Will, I murmured the words that in my 
 stress of my-^tic agony had so far saved me — 
 
 '' God only ! Whatsoever He shall choose for me in life, 
 in death, and after deaih, is best." 
 
 And closing my eyes, I resigned my life to the mercy of 
 the soft waves, and with the sunbeams warm upon my face, 
 I slept. 
 
 I woke again with an icy shudder and cry, — rough cheery 
 voices sounded in my ears, — strong hands were at work busily 
 unfastening the cords with which I was bound, ... I was on 
 the deck of a large steamer, surrounded by a group of men, — 
 and all the glory of the sunset fired the seas. Questions were 
 poured upon me, ... I could not answer them, for my 
 tongue was parched and blistered, . . . lifted upright upon 
 my feet by sturdy arms, I could not stand for sheer exhaus- 
 tion. Dimly, and in feeble dread I stared around me, was 
 
 this great vessel with smoking funnels and grinding engines 
 another devil's craft set sailing round the world ! Too weak 
 to find a voice I made dumb signs of terrified inquiry, . . . 
 a broad-shouldered, bluff-looking man came forward, whose 
 keen eyes rested on me with kindly compassion. 
 
 39* 
 
462 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 '' This is an English vessel," he said. *'\Ve are bound for 
 Southamjjton. Our helmsman saw you floating ahead, — we 
 stopped and sent a boat for rescue. Where were you wrecked ? 
 Any more of the crew afloat?" 
 
 I gazed at him but could not speak. The strangest thoughts 
 crowded into my brain, moving me to wild tears and laughter. 
 England ! The word struck clashing music on my mind, and 
 set all my pulses trembling. England ! The little spot upon 
 the little world, most loved and honoured of all men, save 
 those who envy its worth ! I made some gesture, whether of 
 
 joy or mad amazement I know not, had I been able to 
 
 speak I could have related nothing that those men around 
 me could have comprehended or believed, . . . then I sank 
 back again in a dead swoon. 
 
 They were very good to me, all those English sailors. The 
 captain gave me his own cabin, — the ship's doctor attended 
 me with a zeal that was only exceeded by his curiosity to 
 know where I came from, and the nature of the disaster that 
 had befallen me. But I remained dumb, and lay inert and 
 feeble in my berth, grateful for the care bestowed upon me, 
 as well as for the temporary exhaustion that deprived me of 
 speech. For I had enough to do with my own thoughts, 
 — thoughts far too solemn and weighty for utterance. I was 
 saved, — I was given another chance of life in the world, — and 
 I knew why. My one absorbing anxiety now was to retrieve 
 my wasted time, and to do active good where hitherto I had 
 done nothing. 
 
 The day came at last, when I was sufficiently recovered to 
 be able to sit on deck and watch with eager eyes the approach- 
 ing coast-line of England. I seemed to have lived a century 
 since I left it, — aye, almost an eternity, — for time is what the 
 Soul makes it, and no more. I was an object of interest and 
 attention among all the passengers on board, for as yet I had 
 not broken silence. The weather was calm and bright, . . . 
 the suii shone gloriously, — and far off the pearly rim of 
 Shakespeare's '■ happy isle' glistened jewel-like upon the edge 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 463 
 
 of the sea. The captain came and looked at me, — nodded 
 encouragingly, — and after a moment's hesitation, said — 
 
 "Glad to see you out on deck! Almost yourself again, 
 eh?" 
 
 I silently assented with a faint smile. 
 
 ''Perhaps," he continued, ** as we're so near home, you'll 
 let me know your name? It's not often we pick up a man 
 alive and drifting in mid-Atlantic." 
 
 In mid-Atlantic ! What force had flung me there I dared 
 not think, . . . nor whether it was hellish or divine. 
 
 ''My name?" I murmured, surprised into speech, — how 
 odd it was I had never thought of myself lately as having a 
 name or any other thing belonging to me ! " Why certainly! 
 Geoffrey Tempest is my name." 
 
 The captain's eyes opened widely. 
 
 " Geoffrey Tempest ! Dear me ! . . . The Mr Tempest ? — 
 the great millionaire that was?'" 
 
 It was now my turn to stare. 
 
 " That ivas .?' ' I repeated. " What do you mean ?' ' 
 
 " Have you not heard ?" he asked excitedly. 
 
 " Heird? I have heard nothing since I left England some 
 months ago — with a friend, on board his yacht . . . we went 
 on a long voyage and ... a strange one ! . . . we were 
 wrecked, . . . you know the rest, and how I owe my life to 
 your rescue. But of news I am ignorant ..." 
 
 "Good heavens!" he interrupted quickly. "Bad news 
 travels fast, as a rule, they say, — but you have missed it . . . 
 and I confess I don't like to be the bearer of it . . ." 
 
 He broke off, and his genial face looked troubled. I 
 smiled, — yet wondered. 
 
 " Pray speak out!" I said. "I don't think you can tell 
 me anything that will deeply affect me, — now. I know the 
 best and worst of most things in the world, I assure you !" 
 
 He eyed me dubiously ; — then, going into his smoking- 
 cabin, he brought me out an American newspaper seven days 
 old. He handed it to me, pointing to its leading columns 
 
464 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 without a word. There I saw in large type — *' A Milh'onaire 
 Ruined ! Enormous Frauds ! Monster Forgeries ! Gigantic 
 Swind e ! On the track of Bentham and Ellis !" 
 
 My brain swam for a minute, — then I read on steadily, and 
 soon grasped the situation. The respectable pair of lawyers 
 whom I had implicitly relied on for the management of all my 
 business affairs in my absence, had succumbed to the tempta- 
 tion of having so much cash in charge for investment, — and 
 had become a pair of practised swindlers. Dealing with the 
 same bank as myself, they had forged my name so cleverly 
 that the genuineness of the signature had never been even 
 suspected, — and, after drawing enormous sums in this way, 
 and investing in various ' bubble' companies with which they 
 personally were concerned, they had finally absconded, leav- 
 ing me well-nigh as poor as I was when I first heard of my 
 inherited fortune. I put aside the paper, and looked up at the 
 good captain who stood watching me with sympathetic anxiety. 
 
 ''Thank you!" I said. "These thieves were my trusted 
 lawyers, — and I can cheerfully say that I am much more sorry 
 for them than I am for myself. A thief is always a thief, — a 
 poor man, if he be honest, is at any rate the thief's superior. 
 The money they have stolen will bring them misery rather 
 than pleasure, — of that I am convinced. If this account be 
 correct, they have already lost large sums in bogus compa- 
 nies, — and the man Bentham, whom I thought the very acme 
 of shrewd caution, has sunk an enormous amount of capital 
 in a worn-out gold-mine. Their forgeries must have been 
 admirably done ! — a sad waste of time and cleverness. It 
 appears too that the investments I have myself made are not 
 worth much ; — well, well ! — it does not matter much, — I must 
 begin the world again, that's all." He looked amazed. 
 
 " I don't think you quite realize your own misfortune, Mr 
 Tempest," he said. *' You take it too quietly by half. You'll 
 think worse of it presently." 
 
 '' I hope not !" I responded, with a smile. " It never does 
 to think the worst of anything. I assure you I realize it 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 465 
 
 perfectly. I am in the world's sight a ruined man, — I quite 
 understand !" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders with quite a desperate air, and 
 left me. I am convinced he thought me mad, — but I knew I 
 had never been so sane. I did indeed entirely comprehend 
 my ' misfortune, ' or rather the great chance bestowed on me 
 of winning something far higher than all the coffers of Mam- 
 mon ; I read in my loss of world's cash the working of such 
 a merciful providence and pity as gave me a grander hope 
 than any I had ever known. Clear before me rose the vision 
 of that most divine and beautiful necessity of happiness, — 
 Work ! — the grand and too often misprized Angel of Labour, 
 which moulds the mind of man, steadies his hands, controls 
 his brain, purifies his passions, and strengthens his whole 
 mental and physical being. A rush of energy and health 
 filled my veins, — and I thanked God devoutly for the golden 
 opportunities held out afresh for me to accept and use. 
 Gratitude there should be in every human soul for every gift 
 of heaven, — but nothing merits more thankfulness and praise 
 to the Creator than the call to work, and the ability to respond 
 to it. 
 
 England at last ! — I bade farewell to the good ship that had 
 rescued me and all on board her, most of whom now knew my 
 name and looked upon me with pity as well as curiosity. The 
 story of my being wrecked on a friend's yacht was readily 
 accepted, — and the subject of that adventure was avoided, as 
 the general impression was that my friend, whoever he was, 
 had been drowned with his crew, and that I was the one 
 survivor. I did not offer any further explanation, and was 
 content to so let the matter rest, though I was careful to send 
 both the captain and the ship's doctor a handsome recompense 
 for their united attention and kindness. I have reason to 
 believe, from the letters they wrote me, that they were more 
 than satisfied with the sums received, and that I really did 
 some actual good with those few last fragments of my vanished 
 wealth. 
 
466 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 On reaching London, I interviewed the police concerning 
 the thieves and forgers, Bentham and Ellis, and stopped all 
 proceedings against them. 
 
 " Call me mad if you like," I said to the utterly confounded 
 chief of the detective force — " I do not mind ! But let these 
 rascals keep the trash they have stolen. It will be a curse to 
 them, as it has been to me. It is devil's money ! Half of it 
 was settled on my late wife, — at her death, it reverted by the 
 same deed of settlement, to any living members of her family, 
 and now belongs to Lord Elton. I have lived to make a 
 noble Earl rich, who was once bankrupt, and I doubt if he 
 would lend me a ten-pound-note for the asking ! However, I 
 shall not ask him. The rest has gone into the universal waste 
 of corruption and sham — let it stay there ! I shall never 
 bother myself to get it back. I prefer to be a free man." 
 
 ''But the bank, — the principle of the thing!" exclaimed 
 the detective with indignation. 
 
 I smiled. 
 
 " Exactly ! The principle of the thing has been perfectly 
 carried out. A man who has too much money creates forgers 
 and thieves about him, — he cannot expect to meet with honesty. 
 Let the bank prosecute if it likes, — I shall not. I am free ! — 
 free to work for my living. What I earn I shall enjoy, — what 
 I inherited I have learnt to loathe !" 
 
 With that I left him, puzzled and irate, — and in a day or 
 two the papers were full of strange stories concerning me, and 
 numerous lies as well. I was called 'mad,' 'unprincipled,' 
 ' thwarting the ends of justice,' — and sundry other names, 
 while scurrilous civilities known only to the penny paragraphist 
 were heaped upon me by the score. To complete my entire 
 satisfaction, a man employed on the staff of one of the leading 
 journals, dug out my book from Mudie's underground cellar, 
 and ' slashed' it with a bitterness and venom only excelled by 
 my own violence when anonymously libelling the work of 
 Mavis Clare ! And the result was remarkable, — for in a sud- 
 den wind of caprice, the public made a rush for my neglected 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 467 
 
 literary offspring, — they took it up, handled it tenderly, read 
 it lingeringly, found something in it that pleased them, and 
 finally bought it by thousands ! . . . whereat the astute Mor- 
 geson, as virtuous publisher, wrote to me in wonder and con- 
 gratulation, enclosing a check for a hundred pounds on ' roy- 
 alties,' and promising more in due course, should the 'run' 
 continue. Ah, the sweetness of that earned hundred pounds ! 
 I felt a king of independence ! — realms of ambition and at- 
 tainment opened out before me, — life smiled upon me as it 
 had never smiled before. Talk of poverty ! I was rich ! — 
 rich with a hundred pounds made out of my own brain-labour, 
 — and I envied no millionaire that ever flaunted his gold be- 
 neath the sun ! I thought of Mavis Clare, . . . but dared not 
 dwell too long upon her gentle image. In time perhaps, . . . 
 when I had settled down to fresh work, . . . w^hen I had 
 formed my life as I meant to form it, in the habits of faith, 
 firmness and unselfishness, I would write to her and tell her 
 all, — all, even to that dread insight into worlds unseen beyond 
 the boundaries of an unknown region of everlasting frozen 
 snow ! But now, — now I resolved to stand alone, — fighting 
 my battle as a man should fight, seeking for neither help nor 
 sympathy, and trusting not in Self, but God only. Moreover 
 I could not induce myself yet to look again upon Willows- 
 mere. The place was terror-haunted for me; and though 
 Lord Elton with a curious condescension (seeing that it was 
 to me he owed the free gift of his former property), invited 
 me to stay there, and professed a certain lame regret for the 
 * heavy financial losses' I had sustained, I saw in the tone of 
 his epistle that he looked upon me somewhat in the light of a 
 madman after my refusal to take up the matter of my abscond- 
 ing solicitors, and that he would rather I stayed away. And 
 I did stay away ; — and even when his marriage with Diana 
 Chesney took place with great pomp and splendour, I refused 
 his invitation to be present. In the published list of guests, 
 however, which appeared in the principal papers, I was scarcely 
 surprised to read the name of ' Prince Lucio Rimanez.' 
 
468 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 I now took a humble room and set to work on a new 
 literary enterprise, avoiding e\eryone I had hitherto known, 
 for being now a poor man, I was aware that 'swagger society' 
 wished to blot me from its visiting-list. I lived with my 
 thoughts, — musing on many things, training myself to humility, 
 obedience, and faith with fortitude, — and day by day I did 
 battle with the monster, Egotism, that presented itself in a 
 thousand disguises at every turn in my own life as well as in 
 the lives of others. I had to re-form my character, — to mould 
 the obstinate nature that rebelled, and make its obstinacy 
 serve for the attainment of higher objects than world's renown, 
 — the task was difficult, — but I gained ground a little with 
 every fresh effort. 
 
 I had lived for some months like this happily enough, when 
 all the reading world was suddenly electrified by another book 
 of Mavis Clare's. My lately favoured first work was again 
 forgotten and thrust aside, — hers, slated and screamed at as 
 usual by the criticasters, was borne along to fame by a great 
 wave of honest public praise and enthusiasm. And I ? I 
 rejoiced — no longer grudging or envious of her sweet fame, 
 I stood apart in spirit as it were, while the bright car of her 
 triumph went by, decked, not only with laurels, but with roses, 
 — the blossoms of a people's love and honour. With all my 
 soul I reverenced her genius, — with all my heart I honoured 
 her pure womanliness. And in the very midst of her brilliant 
 success, when all the world was talking of her, she wrote to 
 me, a simple little letter, as gracious as her own fair name. 
 
 Dear Mr Tempest, 
 
 I heard by chance the other day that 
 you had returned to England. I therefore send this note to 
 the care of your publisher to express my sincere delight in the 
 success your clever book has now attained after its interval of 
 probation. I fancy the public appreciation of your work must 
 go far to console you for the great losses you have had both 
 in life and fortune of which I will not here speak. When you 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 469 
 
 feel that you can bear to look again upon scenes which I know 
 will be sure to rouse in your mind many sad and poignant 
 memories, will you come and see me ? 
 
 Your friend 
 
 Mavis Clare. 
 
 A mist came before my eyes, — I almost felt her gentle 
 presence in my room, — I saw the tender look, the radiant 
 smile, — the innocent yet earnest joy of life, and love of purity 
 that emanated from the fair personality of the sweetest woman 
 I had ever known. She called herself my friend ! ... it 
 was a privilege of which I felt myself unworthy. I folded the 
 letter and put it near my heart to serve me as a talisman, . . . 
 she, of all bright creatures in the world surely knew the secret 
 of happiness ! Some -day, . . . yes, ... I would go and 
 see her, . . . my Mavis that sang in her garden of lilies, — 
 some day when I had force and manliness enough to tell her 
 all, — save my love for her ! For that, I felt, must never be 
 spoken, — Self must resist Self, and clamour no more at the 
 gate of a forfeited Paradise. Some day I would see her, . . . 
 but not for a long time, . . . not till I had, in part at least, 
 worked out my secret expiation. As I sat musing thus, a 
 strange memory came into my brain, ... I thought I heard 
 a voice resembling my own which said — 
 
 ^^ Lift, oh lift the shrouding veil ^ spirit of the City Beautiful I 
 For I feel I shall read in your eyes the secret of happiness .^" 
 
 A cold shudder ran through me, — I sprang up erect, in a 
 kind of horror. Leaning at my open window I looked down 
 into the busy street below, — and my thoughts reverted to the 
 strange things I had seen in the East, — the face of the dead 
 Egyptian dancer, uncovered to the light again after two thou- 
 sand years, — the face of Sibyl ! . . . then I remembered the 
 vision of the ' City Beautiful,' in which one face had re- 
 mained veiled, — the face I most desired to see ! and I 
 
 trembled more and more as my mind, despite my will, began 
 to weave together links of the past and present, till they 
 
 40 
 
470 THE SORROWS OF SATAN 
 
 seemed growing into one and the same. Was I again to be 
 
 the prey of evil forces? did some new danger threaten 
 
 me? — had I, by some unconscious wicked wish invited new 
 temptation to assail me ? Overcome by my sensations, I left 
 my work and went out into the fresh air, . . .it was late at 
 night, — and the moon was shining. I felt for the letter of 
 Mavis, — it pressed against my heart, a shield against all vile- 
 ness. The room I occupied was in a house not far from 
 Westminster Abbey, and I instinctively bent my steps towards 
 that grey old shrine of kings and poets dead. The square 
 around it was almost deserted, 1 slackened my pace, stroll- 
 ing meditatively along the narrow paved way that forms a 
 short cut across into Old Palace Yard, . . . when suddenly 
 a dark Shadow crossed my path, and looking up, T came face 
 to face with Lucio ! The same as ever, — the perfect im- 
 personation of perfect manhood ! . . . his countenance, pale, 
 
 proud, sorrowful yet scornful, flashed upon me like a star ! 
 
 he looked full at me, and a questioning smile rested on his 
 lips. My heart almost stopped beating, ... I drew a quick 
 sharp breath, . . . again I felt for the letter of Mavis, and 
 then, . . . meeting his gaze fixedly and straightly in my turn, 
 I moved slowly on in silence. He understood, — his eyes 
 flashed with the jewel-like strange brilliancy I knew so well, 
 and so well remembered ! — and drawing back, he stood aside 
 and — let me pass ! I continued my walk steadily, though 
 dazed and like one in a dream, — till reaching the shadowed 
 side of the street opposite the Houses of Parliament, I stopped 
 for a moment to recover my startled senses. There again I 
 
 saw him ! the superb Man's form, — the Angel's face, — the 
 
 haunting, splendid sorrowful eyes ! he came with his usual 
 
 ease and grace of step into the full moonlight and paused, — 
 apparently waiting for some one. For me? — ah no ! — I kept 
 the name of God upon my lips, — I gathered all the strength 
 of faith within my soul, — and though I was wholesomely 
 afraid of Myself, I feared no other foe ! I lingered therefore 
 — watching ; — and presently I saw a few members of Parliament 
 
THE SORROWS OF SATAN 471 
 
 walking singly and in groups towards ihe House, — one or two 
 greeted the tall dark Figure as a friend and familiar, and 
 others knew him not. Still he waited on, . . . and so did I. 
 At last, just as ' Big Ben' chimed the quarter to eleven, one 
 man whom I instantly recognised as a well-known Cabinet 
 minister came walking briskly towards the House, . . . then, 
 and then only, He whom I had known as Lucio, advanced 
 smiling. Greeting the minister cordially, in that musical rich 
 voice I knew of old, he took his arm, — and they both walked 
 on, talking earnestly. I watched them till their figures re- 
 ceded in the moonlight, . . . the one tall, kingly and com- 
 manding, ... the other burly and broad and self-assertive in 
 demeanour ; — I saw them ascend the steps, and finally disap- 
 pear within the House of England's Imperial Government, — 
 Devil and Man, — together ! 
 
 The End. 
 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S 
 PUBLICATIONS BY 
 POPULAR AUTHORS. 
 
BY 
 
 Anne Hollingsworth Wharton. 
 
 Through Colonial Doorways. 
 
 With a number of colonial illustrations from drawings specially made 
 for the work, i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " It is a pleasant retrospect of fashionable New York and Philadelphia 
 society during and immediately following the Revolution ; for there was a Four 
 Hundred even in those days, and some of them were Whigs and some were 
 Tories, but all enjoyed feasting and dancing, of which there seemed to be no 
 limit. And this little book tells us about the belles of the Philadelphia meschi- 
 anza, who they were, how they dressed, and how they flirted with Major Andre 
 and other officers in Sir William Howe's wicked employ." — Philadelphia Record. 
 
 
 '-iV^-'i;;'.' 
 
 Colonial Days and Dames. 
 
 With numerous illustrations. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " In less skilful hands than those of Anne Hollingsworth Wharton's, these 
 scraps of reminiscences from diaries and letters would prove but dry bones. But 
 she has made them so charming that it is as if she had taken dried roses from an 
 old album and freshened them into bloom and perfume. Each slight paragraph 
 from a letter is framed in historical sketches of local affairs or with some account 
 of the people who knew the letter writers, or were at least of their date, and there 
 are pretty suggestions as to how and why such letters were written, with hints of 
 love affairs, which lend a rose-colored veil to what were probably every-day 
 matters in colonial families." — Pittsburg Bulletin. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price, 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
MISS CAREY'S STORIES 
 FOR GIRLS. 
 
 LITTLE MISS MUFFET. 
 COUSIN MONA. 
 
 l2mo. Cloth, illustrated, $1.25 per volume. 
 
 The two above volumes, in box, $2.50. 
 
 With great descriptive power, considerable and often quiet fun, 
 there is a delicacy and tenderness, a knowledge and strength of 
 purpose, combined with so much fertility of resource and originality 
 that the interest never flags, and the sensation on putting down any 
 of her works is that of having dwelt in a thoroughly healthy atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 MERLE'S CRUSADE. 
 AUNT DIANA. ESTHER. 
 
 OUR BESSIE. AVERIL. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.25 per volume. 
 
 Five volumes, uniform binding, in neat box, $6.25. 
 
 " Miss Rosa Nouchette Carey has achieved an enviable reputation 
 as a writer of tales of a restful and quiet kind. They tell pleasant 
 stories of agreeable people, are never sensational, and have a genuine 
 moral purpose and helpful tone, without being aggressively didactic 
 or distinctly religious in character." — N. Y. Christian Union. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price, 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
Authors and Their Works, 
 
 MRS. A. L. WISTER. 
 
 Translations from the German, 
 
 $i.oo per volume. 
 
 Countess Erika's Apprenticeship. By Ossip Scliubin. 
 **0 Thou, My Austria I" By Ossip Scliubin. 
 Erlach Court. By Ossip Scliubin. 
 The Alpine Fay. By E. Werner. 
 
 ^ The Owl's Nest. By E. Marlitt. 
 
 ^ Picked Up in the Streets. By H. Scliobert. 
 
 ^ Saint Michael. By E- Werner. 
 
 Violetta. By Ursula Zoge von Manieufel. 
 The Lady with the Rubies. By E. Marlitt. 
 Vain Forebodings. By E. Oswald. 
 A Penniless Girl. By W. Heimburg. 
 Quicksands. By Adolph Streckfuss. 
 
 Countess Qisela. By E. Marlitt. 
 
 ^ At the Councillor's. By E. Marlitt. 
 
 ^ The Second Wife. By E. Marlitt. 
 
 The Old Mam'selle's Secret. By E. Marlitt. 
 Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt. 
 The Little Moorland Princess. By E. Marlitt. 
 Banned and Blessed. By E. Werner. 
 A Noble Name. By Claire von Gliiiuer. 
 
Authors and Their Works. 
 
 MRS. WiSTER'S TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Continued. 
 
 From Hand to Hand. By Golo Raimund. 
 Severa. By E. Hartner. 
 A New Race. By Golo Raimund. 
 The Eichhofs. By Moritz von Reichenbach. 
 Castle Hohenwald. By Adolph Streckfuss. 
 Margarethe. By E. Juucker. 
 
 ^ Too Rich. By Adolph Streckfuss. 
 
 ^ A Family Feud. By Ludwig Harder. 
 The Green Gate. By Ernst Wichert. 
 Only a Girl. By Wilhelmine von Hillern. 
 Why Did He Not Die. By Ad. von Volckhauser. 
 Hulda. By Fanny Lewald. 
 The Bailiff's Maid. By E. Marlitt. 
 In the Schillingscourt. By E. Marlitt. 
 
 "Mrs. A. It. Wister, through her many translations of novels 
 from the German, has established a reputation of the highest order 
 for literary judgment, and for a long time her name upon the title- 
 page of such a translation has been a suflScient guarantee to the 
 lovers of fiction of a pure and elevating character, that the novel 
 would be a cherished home favorite. This faith in Mrs. Wister is 
 fully justified by the fact that among her more than thirty transla- 
 tions that have been published by Lippincott's there has not been 
 a single disappointment. And to the exquisite judgment of selec- 
 tion is to be added the rare excellence of her translations, which 
 has commanded the admiration of literary and linguistic scholars." 
 — Boston Home Journal. 
 
 J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia 
 
Authors and Their Works, 
 
 JULIEN GORDON. 
 
 "Now and then, to prove to men^perhaps also to prove to 
 themselves — what they can do if they dare and will, one of these 
 gifted women detaches herself from her sisters, enters the arena 
 with men, to fight for the highest prizes, and as the brave Gotz 
 says of Brother Martin, 'shames many a knight.^ To this race 
 of conquerors belongs to-day one of the first living writers of 
 novels and romances, fulien Gordon.'''' 
 
 FRIED RICH SPIELHAGEN. 
 
 Poppsea. 
 
 A Diplomat's Diary. 
 A Successful Man. 
 Vampires, and Mademoiselle Reseda, 
 
 Two stories in one book. 
 i2mo. Cloth, $i.oo per vol. 
 
 "The cleverness and lightness of touch which characterized 
 'A Diplomat's Diary' are not wanting in the later work of the 
 American lady who writes imder the pseudonyme of Julien Gordon. 
 In her former story the dialogue is pointed and alert, the characters 
 are clear-cut and distinct, and the descriptions picturesque. As 
 for the main idea of 'A Successful Man,' the intersection of two 
 wholly different strata of American life, — one fast and fashionable, 
 the other domestic and decorous, — it is worked out with much skill 
 and alertness of treatment to its inevitably tragic issue." — N. Y. 
 World. 
 
 J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 
 
Authors and Their Works, 
 
 MY PARIS NOTE=BOOK. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 "Victor Emanuel, the members of the Comedie Fran^aise. Er- 
 nest Renan, Paul de Kock, MacMahon, Thiers, Grevy and his wife, 
 Ferry, Freycinet, Boulang-er and Mme. de Bonnemain, SkobelefF, 
 Clemenceau, Gambetta, Brisson, Goblet, Floquet, Cassagnac, surely 
 these are names to conjure with, and it is of these notables that 
 Mr. Vandam tells us at length in his spicy, gossipy style. Verily 
 his note-book is a mine of wealth, and all will hope that he will 
 open it once more and many times." — Cincinnati Tribxme. 
 
 "The author of that much-talked-of book, 'An Englishman in 
 Paris,' has written another, which will create as great an interest 
 as the first. The book is a fund of enjoyment from beginning to 
 end, and any one who takes it up will find himself interested." — 
 Boston Times. 
 
 "This new volume by the author of 'An Englishman in Paris.' 
 is one of the most readable of the books of the year. It abounds 
 in the brightest of sketches, in the most interesting of gossip, in 
 the most vivid of descriptions of the altogether unique Paris under 
 the third republic." — Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 "The book, which comes to us from the Lippincotts, is fully as 
 entertaining as its predecessor, and is quite as rich in illustrative 
 anecdotes of eminent men and important events. We are again 
 brought into intimate relations with Louis Napoleon ; we are taken 
 behind the scenes of the Comedie Francaise ; we make the ac- 
 quaintance of Renan, Paul de Kock, Thiers, Jules Grevy, — in a 
 word, the most interesting phases of recent and contemporary 
 French life are exposed to us by one who has known the boulevards 
 for almost forty years, and who has had, besides, the use of certain 
 valuable reminiscences recorded by two maternal granduncles, who 
 lived on terms of intimacy with Napoleon III." — Philadelphia 
 Press. 
 
 J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, 
 
Authors and Their Works. 
 
 Captain Charles King, u.s.a, 
 
 Under Fire. Ilhistrated. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 The Colonel's Daughter. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Marian's Faith. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Captain Blake. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Foes in Ambush. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Kitty's Conquest. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Starlight Ranch, and Other Stories. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Laramie; or. The Queen of Bedlam. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 The Deserter, and From the Ranks. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Two Soldiers, and Dunraven Ranch. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 A Soldier's Secret, and An Army Portia. Cloth, $1.00, 
 
 Waring' s Peril. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Trials of a Staff Officer. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Captain Close, and Sergeant Croesus. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 EDITOR OF 
 
 The Colonel's Christmas Dinner, and Other Stories. 
 
 Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 An Initial Experience, and Other Stories. Cloth, $1.00 ; 
 Paper, jo cents. 
 
 Captain Dreams, and Other Stories. Cloth, $1.00 ; Paper ^ 
 JO cents. 
 
 From the lowest soldier to the highest officer, from the servant to the 
 master, there is not a character in any of Captain King's novels that is 
 not wholly in keeping with expressed' sentiments. There is not a move- 
 ment made on the field, not a break from the ranks, not an offence 
 against the military code of discipline, and hardly a heart-beat that 
 escapes his watchfulness." — Boston Herald. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 
 
 TO— ^- 202 Main Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 HOME USE 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 1 -month loans moy be renewed by colling 642-3405 
 
 6-month loons may be recharged by bringing books to Circulation Desk 
 
 Renewals and recharges may be mode 4 days prior to due date 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 
 
 
 
 OPT 'A 1 1^^ 
 
 n 
 
 
 y \j 1 U -L »•-'- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 / 
 
 AUG 1 3 2000 
 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 
 
 ur 
 
 FORM NO. DD6, 60m, 3/80 
 
 \ 
 
U. C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 CDSSEbbDM3 
 
 ""'' 925574 
 
 ■7 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY