ILLINOIS

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN

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mTHE SORROWS OF SATANThe Sorrows of Satan

OR

THE STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF ONE
GEOFFREY TEMPEST, MILLIONAIRE

A ROMANCE

By

Marie Corelli

AUTHOR OF " BARABBAS,"
«« VENDETTA !° ETC,, ETC.

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP

PublishersCopyright, 1895,

by

J, B. Lippincott Company.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

I

Do you know what it is to he poor? Not poor with the
arrogant povert}r complained of by certain people who have
live or six fnousasd a 3*ear to live upon, and who yet swear
they can hardly manage to make both ends raeet? 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 aad causes yon to slink along the streets vaguely
aliashed? 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
areatare 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 Jimmous carriage, lolling back
lazily, her face mottled with the purple and red signs of super-
fluous eating,—when he observes the brainless and sensual
msssT &€ isskma smoking and. dawdling away toe hoars 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
4 upper' classes,—then the good blood in him turns to gall
and Ms ssffermg spirit rises in fierce rebellion crying out—
4fWhy in God's name, should this injustice be? "Why
should a worthless lounger hare his pockets full of gold by

i*	56

THE SORROWS OF SATAN

mere chance and heritage, while I, tolling wearily from morn
till midnight, can scarce afford myself a satisfying meal ?"

Why indeed ! Why should the wicked flourish like a green
bay-tree? I have often thought about it. Now however
I believe I could help 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 truetruer than much so-called truth. More-
over I know that many men are living through many mch in-
cidents as have occurred to me, under precisely the same i nflu-
ence, conscious perhaps at times that they are in the taagles
of sinr but too weak of will to break the net in which they
have become voluntarily imprisoned. Will they be taught* I
wonder, the lesson X 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 mj in-
tellectual perception,—the vast, individual, active Mmd^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, X 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 m
best they may.

During a certain bitter winter, long remembered for its
arc tic seventy, 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 m
London and well-nigh starving. How a starving mm seldomTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

7

gets the sympathy he merits,—so few cm 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 m if these
were occasional jests imputed for afterHdixmer aimssement.
Or, with that irritating vagueness of attention which character-
ises fashionable folk to such an extent that wkm asking a
question they neither wait for the answer nor understand it
when, given, the welbdined groups* tearing of some one starved
to death mil idly murmur * How dreadful V and at once turn
to the discussion of the latest *fmI1 for killing time, ere it
takes to killing them with sheer tmmL The pronounced feet
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, l, 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 tie frightful
enough to those who axe, unhappily, daily inured to them,
hot which when they afflict one who has been tenderly reared
and brought up to consider himself a ' gentleman,'—Cod
save the murk! 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 tlrnt every penny of
the fortune I imagined he possessed was due to swarming
creditors, and that nothing of all mx ho use 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
pot 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 beginningg	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,
kis manuscripts are flung back to him unread, and he is less
czrvd for tkm the condemned murderer in gaol The mur-
derer is at tee fed and clothed,—a worthy clergyman visits
ym, and his gaoler will occasionally condescend to play cards
with Mm. But a man gifted with original thoughts and the
power of expressing them, appears to be regarded by everyone
I'u" authority as much worse than the worst criminal and all
the * jacks 4n~ office' 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 easilythe 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
mx months I got some reviewing work on a well-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 promisesTHE 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
ray own,—a work of fiction which I knew had some merit,
but which all the ' readers' in the publishing offices appeared
to find exceptionally worthies!. 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 lias 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 risqui 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.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" Of course I am sure/1— he replied— '* It is my business
to 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 my positively indecent subject,—that can be
safely left to the ' New' woman/''—and he laughed,—"but I
mmm 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 lam also a mistake I think/* I said with a forced
smile*—u At any rate if what yon say be true, I must lay
down the pen and try another trade, 1 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. Anived 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 Hung my useless manuscript on the floorTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	n

and myself into a chair, and—wore. 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 lit of weeping may be to an
excitable woman, just as I could not shed tears, so wm I
incapable of apostrophizing God in my despair. To speak
frankly, I did not believe in. any God—4hm± 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 realised 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 comer 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
haif-stupefkd fancies as I wm capable of, deserved the name
of thought,

The night was bitter cold. My hands were numbed, and I
tried to warm them at the oiM&mp 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-THE SORROWS OF SATAN

mark, and the third a thick square missi ve coroneted in red
and gold at the back, 1 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 ate aunt of my increasing debts
and difficulties to m old college chum, who Undiag 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 seat

"Of course it will be a refusal/1' * 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/ X know the sort of thing. Well,—after all, why
should I expect him to be different to other men ? I've no
claim on Mm 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 toweis 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, fancy log 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
t ose imaginative days we thought we had in us such staff as
heroes are made of. But our entrance into the social arena
soon robbed us of our sublime conceit,—we were common

n° .mo.re'"thc Srind and Prose of daily life put
Homer into the background, and we soon discovered that
society was more interested in the latent unsavoury scandalTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

*3

than in the tragedies of Sophocles or the wisdom of Plato*
WellJ 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 cam 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.

0 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 tUU 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. Flay 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 V9

The music grew softer and more plaintive and was now ac-
companied by the rattle of hailstones against the window-
panes, A gimty wind whistled under the door and roared
down the chimney,—a wind cold as the grasp of death and
searching m a probing knile. I shivered,—and brnding 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

j&ly heart gave a quick bound ol mingled relief and grati*
tude,

<< Why Jack* old fellow, I wronged you !M I exclaimed,—
" your heart is m 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,

Fm sorry to hear you are down on
your luck j it shows what a crop of fools are still flourishing
in London, when a man of your capability cannot gain Ms
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 yea
a friend,—a real friend mind you i— 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
aflairs entirely in his hands. He knows everybody, and is up
to all the dodges of editorial management and newspaper
cliques. He h 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 hi!
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 && anything he likes; very naturally, seeing that theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

whole world of morals, civilization and the rest is subservient
to the power of moneyand Ms stock of cash appears to be
limitless.. Use Mm; 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

'£Bom,ES."

I laughed as I read the absurd signature, though my eyes
were dim with something like tears, ' Boffies' was the nick-
name given to my friend by several of our college companions,
md 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 k" Bo files,' and
Boffies 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 amaxedly. What was it all about ?—The written
characters danced before my eyes,—parted and bewildered,
I found myself reading the thing over and over again with-
out any clear comprehension of it Presently a glimmer of
meaning Hashed upon me, startling my senses like an electric
shock, . . , no—no—!—impossible I Fortune never could
be so mad as this!—never so wildly capricious and grotesque
of humour 1 It was some senseless hoax that was being prac-
tised upon me, . . , and yet, . . . if it were a joke it was
a very elaborate and remarkable one! Weighted with ih&THE SORROWS OF SATAN

irtajesfcy of the law too I .. . Upon my word and by all the
fantastical freakish destinies that govern human affairs, the
news seemed actually positive and genuine !

II

Steadying' ray 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
* fever ? Or could this startling, this stupendous piece of
information be really true? Because,—if indeed it were
troef . . * good heavens 1—I turned giddy to think of it,
and it was only by sheer force of will that I kept myself ilrom
swooning with the agitation of such sudden surprise and
ecstasy. If it were true—why then the world was mine 1
—I was king instead of beggarI was everything 1 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, bad died suddenly in South. America
leaving me his sole heir.

a The real and personal estate n&w .amomiting to something
ever Fine Millions of JPotmds Sterling, we should esteem it a
favour if you could make it eonvmi-mt to call upon us any day
this week in order that we may go through the necessary for-
malities together. The larger bulk of the task is lodged in
the Bmtk of England, and a considerable amount is plated
in French government securities. We should prefer going
info further details with you personally rather than by letter.
Trusting you mill call on us without delay, we are. Sir, yours
o bediently , . , "

Five Millions! . . * I, the starving literary hack,—the
friendless, hopeless, almost reckless haunter of low newspaperTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

ty

dens—I, the possessor of "over Five Millions of Founds
sterling" I I tried to grasp the astounding tact,—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 sideand 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 \n I cried
aloud—(i 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 !M

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,
T checked myself abruptly, somewhat startled, and listened.
Bain 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,

u 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 V' 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 1 You shall have your loan back as promptly as you sent
it, with an extra fifty added by way of interest for your jen-18

THE SORROWS OF SATAN

erosity* And as for the new Maecenas you arc seeding 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 not advice nor
patronage—I am 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 i 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,—X 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 V*

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 lei! 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
fulsome adulation I 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 !

jt i*If of ambitious thought, I now and then caught wildTHE 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 om eoroneted in scarlet and gold, which had remained
where it was 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 asnnder. 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*

Deak Sib.

I am the bearer of a letter of introduction
to you from your former college companion Mr John Car-
rmgiom, 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 arid nine o'clock, trusting to find yon at home
and disengaged. 1 enclose my card, and present address,
and beg to remain,

Very faithfully yours

Lucio RmAKE&*

The card mentioned dropped on the table as I finished
reading the note. It bore a small exquisitely engraved coronet
and the words

Prince Lucro Rimanm,

white, scribbled lightly in pencil underneath was the address
4 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,ao	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

A curious fascination kept my eyes fastened on the char-
acteristic bold band writing, and made me fancy X should
like the man who penned it. How the wind roared!—and
how that violin next door wailed like the restless spirit of
gome forgotten musician in torment 1 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 mch he were, with limitless
wealth at his back, should be coming to visit mer^, now
a millionaire,—in my present wretched 1 Qdging. 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 I
If I had had a sixpence about me, (which I had not) I should
have sent a telegram to my approaching visitor to pot him
off.

" Bat in any ease/' I said aloud, addressing myself to the
empty room and the storm-echoes—" X will not meet him to-
night, 111 go out and leave no message,—-and if he comes
he will think I have not yet had his letter* I can make am
appointment to see him when I arn 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 Bickering lamp gave a dismal crackle and
went ont, leaving rne in pitch darkness. With an exclamation
more strong than reverent, f 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 withTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

21

the mellow tones of a deep masculine voice,—then steps, firm
and even, ascended the stairs to my landing.

u The devil is in it V* I muttered vexediy—Just like my
wayward lack \—here comes the very man I intended to
avoid f

III

The door opened,—and from the dense obscurity en-
shrouding me I could just perceive a tall shadowy figure
standing on the threshold. 1 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 haif*an~hoor ago* If you don't
mind waiting here a minute I'll fetch a light and see if he
ha$ left any message on his table.5'

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 imwilling 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 yon 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 itTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

seemed to suddenly overshadow me, and once again the voice
called—

*4 Geoffrey Tempest, are you there V *

For very shame's sake I could hold out no longer,—and
with a determined effort X 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/1 I said—11 And being here I am ashamed
to give yon such a welcome as this. You are Prince Rim&tiez
of courseI 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. Yon 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 X cannot fail to understand you. Briefly, and
without courtesy, you resent my visit this evening and wish I
had not come f *

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,M— X said—" The fact
is I only opened your letter a few rnimites 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 !M

I at once extended my hand, and it was instantly clasped
in a warm and somewhat masterful manner. At that instant
a light Hashed 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 seeingTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

a3

me,—she may have said anything or nothing,—I did not hear
or heed, so entirely was I amazed and fascinated by the appear-
sxxce of the man whose long slender hand still held mine. I
am myself m average good height, but he was fully half a
head taller than if not more than that,—and as I looked
straight!y at him, I thought X 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 6rm, 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 X 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 I had known
him all my life! And now lace to lace 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 I know I have come at an awkward moment,M he said—-
"I always do! It is my peculiar misfortune. Well-bred24	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« letter addressed to me in my friend Carrington's
familiar handwriting. " And permit me to sit down while yon
read my credentials."

He took a chair and seated himself. I observed Ms hand-
some face and easy attitude with renewed admiration.

"No credentials are necessary,*J I said with 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 feet is—well!—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 !M he declared
lightly—'tf 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 nnmeotiorvable—-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-—! am 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 hav*
brought you,—I shall not be satisfied till you do/'

Thus requested j 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

dear geoffkev;

The bearer of this, Prince Ilim&nez, 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 he 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, m 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, to 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 am 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 ' Baffles' 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 ITHE SORROWS OF SATAN

should have greets you in so churlish a manner this even.in.gv
No apology can condone .my radeness,—but you cannot
imagine how morti/ied I felt, and still feel, to be compelled
to receive you in this miserable den,—it is not at ail
the sort of place in which I should have liked to welcome
yoy , . M And I broke off with a renewed sense of irri-
tation, renumbering how actually rich I now wm, and that
in spite of this 1 was obliged to seem poor, Meanwhile the
prince wai ved aside my remarks with a light gesture of his hand.

rrW.hy 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,—i.s 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 t—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 mu&Vpublishefs have made since out of hk
compositions! It is a most beautiful dispensation of nature,
~~~th&t honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for
the sustenance of knaves ! M

He laughed, and I looked at him in a little surprise. His
remark touched so near rny own opinions that 1 wondered
whether he were in jest or earnest,

'/ Ycu speak sarcastically of course I said—" You do not
really believe what you say ?"

" Oh do I not I" he returned, with a flash of his fine eves
that was almost lightning-like in its intensity—" If I coald
not heiteve the teaching of my o,rn experience, what would
be kit to me ? I always realize the ' needs mm? of things—

driv«—r?* °Id	g°-~'oeed« r""st	the devil

;Z T	, 1 Y "° P°"ib,e <°ntradicti0„ to offer to

Wfarfcy of that *»tcraent. The devil drives the world
*a«p in hand,- and oddly enough (considering that someTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

27

belated folk still fancy there is a God somewhere) succeeds
in managing Ms 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 m not moralise,—morals sicken the soul both in
church and out of it,—every sensible man hates to be told
what he c&uld be and what he won'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
«asy 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 1M 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 Carrmgton, 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 straggling 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,—X 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!M And I handed him the lawyer's
letter which informed me of my suddenly acquired for time.

He glanced it through rapidly,—then folded and returned it
to me with a courteous bow.

I suppose I should congratulate you/'-—he said—'* AndTHE 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
nm through and exhausted in about eight years or less,
therefore it does not provide absolute immunity from care.
To he rich, really rich, in my seme of the word, one should
have about a million a year. Then one might reasonably
hope to escape the workhouse I''

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 1 He went on without
apparently noticing my amassment—

"The inexhaustible greed of a man, my dear sir, can never
be fttisti&dL If he is not consumed by desire for one things
he is for another, and his tastes are generally expensive, A
lew pretty and unscrupulous women for example, would soon
relieve you of your five millions in the purchase of jewels
aioue. 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 preming m they were. And in this I confer
myself somewhat disappointed,™^ I came to you hoping to
do a good turn to some one for once in my life, and to play
the teter-father to a rising genim-mid here I am_fcre«
a wual I It is a singular thing do you know, but
nevertheless a fact, that whenever I have had any particular

!eanvr«Lr°ra,?S * 1	foiled I It is

Z*l , d upoa n,e?" Hc broke off and raked his

head m a listening attitude,

What is that ?* * he asked.

mL~	*** ' "'n-k""" " A'«

!'•' I"5""1

Weli t—milllnnll	ld0f raawkish devotional stuff.

*> proposed supper? Andn^K 0bject,oa 1 hope,
w* if you feelmdi„ed,~whatSoyrsay?S1C"han ^THE SORROWS OF SATAN

*9

He clapped me on the shoulder cordially and looked
straight into my lace,—those wonderful eyes of his, suggestive
of hoth tears and fire, Iked me with a clear masterful. ga*e that
completely dominated me. I made no attempt to resist the
singular attzactior. which now possessed. me for this mm whom
X had but just met,--the sensation wm 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 yoa, prince," X said—"I look
more like a tramp than a millionaire/'

He glanced at me and smiled*

"Upon my life, so you doP' he averred—u 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 V' 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 f 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
*hef with and he is not without skill I hope, by the
w*}% 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?"

Ihis oiler 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, I0	THE SORROW OF SATAN

L„ wrote . few line, to m, landlady	>*' sh=

Si,, the money owinj to her by post nex day,-then,
taing m, rejected manuscript, my on), worldly possesion,
'nto nty cost-pocket, I ejttap.irf.ed the lamp, and w.tl. the
new friend I tod » suddenly gained, I left my dtsmal lodg-
ings and all its mise.aMe associations for ever. I httle
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
Ufe —when I should regard the bitter poverty I then endured,
as the stem 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 wail 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-
iuiy. W\? s&sppvd «r, I prccecfmg my companion at Ms ex-
pressed desire; and as I sank back among the easy cushions I
felt the complacent consciousness of luxury and power toTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 youTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

believe that there are some things wealth cannot buy,—honour
and virtue for example ?'7

He surveyed me with a whimsical smile.

"I suppose honour and virtue do 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 bona-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.

" 6 Indeed !' That is all you can find to say! Indeed andTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

again indeed, the word ' Christian* vexes me. There is no
such being alive. You 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,—I 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 ofTHE 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
jubordinates, 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 ofTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

supper Amiel set the choicest cognac and cigars before us and
respectfully withdrew—" Do you think you will care to go on
with it ?H

" 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 and the
devil walks in. Have you never heard that?0

" 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 to36	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, withTHE 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 4 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 had -uffered loss or sorrow—''

Rimanez smiled compassionately.

" Ah, 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 it38	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 you,—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,—yourTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 different
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 affections of a
rickerty 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 mentally40	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 you, 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 me, 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

4i

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. Yoc seem to take a perverse delight
in running yourself down! - but you know the old adage,
6 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 said42	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!
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"said watching meTHE 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* 11 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. Ami el!"

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-mastered44	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.'7
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 toTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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. I^et 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 coursewof 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 masters
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 tooTHE 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 !"

"lam!" 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 gel
oroperly 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 6 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—
I" 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 aTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

hansom, and was driven off rapidly to Basinghall Street where
my solicitors 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—
u 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 feelSo	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 meant. 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

5*

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
of 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 f 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 !—^
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 1 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, was 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 rperhaps 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, "tohave 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—•"I need
scarcely say that we shall serve you as we served our late client,THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 whole54

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 IT" 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 toTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 inwardly 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.
Remember, I give you just a day's grace to decide,—it must
be yes or no in twenty-four hours !"S6	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

And with this 1 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 ojie 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 through 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—•
4i 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 6 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. I58	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 theTHE 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 /'1

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 sour 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 moire 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.'7

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 when6o

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 meTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	61

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 it62	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 lNot
up to our mark9 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."

1 " 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 4 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 wolfs 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 than64	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 shouldTHE 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 uot a scoundrel1'—I rejoined, smoking peace-
fully.

" No,—I'm not a scoundrel, but there's a good deal of the
devil in me."

" All the better !" I said, stretching myseli 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 !—i 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

4t«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
say est, 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 then.' ''

" 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—"Well—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 in68	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 LevSe 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 !'3 he responded—" Shall I enter a horse for you ?''
"If it is not too late, and you like to do so'7—I said—" I
leave it in your hands. But I must tell you frankly I don't
take much interest in racing matters.''

u 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 furore 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 chefy—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!''
i( Thanks!—much obliged !" and I gave way to heartyTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

laughter—" Upon my word Lucio, your programme is per*
feet! 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 4 swagger' society as 'those sort of people.'
Those sort of people are so ' interesting' say the blue-
blooded noodles deprecatingly, excusing themselves as it
were for knowing any members of the class literary. You
can fancy a ' swagger' lady of Elizabeth's time asking a
friend—4 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 sort 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 4 my lord' or 6 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.

4t 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 1 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 different 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;
'i 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,THE SORROWS OF SATAN

though the most intimate friends in the world, were able b
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 c 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 i millions' which made me so interesting
—(the paragraph was written out by Lucio and handed for
circulation to the 6agency' aforesaid with 'money down')—j
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 me 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 i tide over present difficulties.' One of these
applicants was a journalist on the staff of a well-known paper
who had promised to find me 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 me 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.
1 certainly did look forward with very genuine feeling
and expectation to the publication of my work when that76	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 ?'9

"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 write 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 wanted to explain to you is
this,—that my book expresses a certain tone of thought which
purporting to be mine, 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,—you 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 steadilyTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

tipon 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 of 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 i 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 suddenlySo	THE 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."

u 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	8t

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 not 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.

" Axe 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 themselves.
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 somewhatTHE 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 a furore. 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 t 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 I84	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 them, so
they find me! Au revoir! Dinner in an hour's time re-
member !'7

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 ' friends7 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

886	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 4' 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,19 she replied. " AndTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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.M

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.7'

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 felt88	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 ' woman with
^tiie 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
Mower' 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 with 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 offends
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
1 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—

c*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 are 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 me 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 togetherTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 Ekon
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 confessTHE 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 toTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 i 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 areTHE 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 ydu
that my deceased relative imagined that he had sold his soul
to the devil, and that this vast fortune of his was the material
results!"

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—
" I will say good-night to you, Tempest. I've promised to
go and have a gamble."

i' 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 lower 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 they like96	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 Cassio, 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 thoughf—or, ' ere long everybody 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 the most delicate and burning questions
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 ?''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 be given away 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 First Large
Edition of the New Novel by Geoffrey Tempest being exhausted
on the day of publication, a Second is in Rapid Preparation.''
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/7

" 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 i on sale or return' to provincial book-
sellers; and then we shall announce—1 In consequence of theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 fortthat. 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 looked100	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'7—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!0 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 woman 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 heTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	101

ts one of the editor's friends.* You must manage McWhing,
or he might, just for the sake of i showing .off/ cut you up
rather roughly.''

"That would not matter," I said, diverted at the idea of
1 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 c booming'
in short——''

''1 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 was 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 Knowles's own written authority for this ' log roll*
ing' feet.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 asTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 noble
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 4 honourable mention' he rightly deserves,
—down you go ! I have but to loosen my hold F Geoffrey,
you should have seen McWhing then! He whined, heTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

wriggled, he clung! Never was an oracle of the press in
such an unoracular condition. * Murder!'—murder V he
gasped, but his voice failed him. Above him towered the
snow peaks like the summits of that Fame he could not
Teach 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,
4 '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,—you 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
down 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-
clared, 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 nothing /' I left him snoring nobly andTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 ?'1

"True, but that was afterwards !" and Lucio laughed—"I
assure you, my dear fellow, we can 4 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 !M

"How do you know I am not one?'7 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 wasio6	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 Pail-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 demi-mondaine of the most
pronounced type,—one of those ' pure' ladies witL 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 rouge 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 down 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

atorm. 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 tc 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 asio8	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.
"I'll 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,—
4 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 th'e 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. ' * Whatiio	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 pityTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	in

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!M

" 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 playedTHE 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-Mali,—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 I"

" 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 drivrr, 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 calledTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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! I 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!—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 c 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—
6 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!"114	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

I made no answer. I was too overcome by my own miser-
able sensations. I 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 ?''

"He was 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 withTHE 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.

4' That last stake of Lynton's, . . . to you—" I said fal~
teringly—" His soul-"

'' Which he did not believe in, and which 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 ha& led me into such deep wells
of {lark discovery, that it is no wonder if my senses some-
times reel,—and I believe—at such insane moments—in the
Soul!"

I sighed heavily.

"I think I will go to bed/' I answered. "Iam 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 ! 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.ii 6	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 notwith-
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 absolutely 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 my 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 I 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 men8	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 theTHE 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 V 9 he
said, when I had concluded my story.

"Did you give me 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 I
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.

<JIs 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.''

" How so?"

" 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

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 that 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.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 thatTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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, 4 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;
UI 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 chef 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 chef 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 chef 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 other124	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 manage. 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-maidTHE 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 El ton1 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 sister-in-law, Miss
Charlotte Fitzroy."

11*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 women 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 know 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. Poor128	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 you'll 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
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.

uPardon me!" interrupted Lucio; "I am many years
older."THE SORROWS OF SATAN

•'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.

"1 should imagine the prince to be slightly the senior of
Mr Tempest," she remarked in precise, high-bred accents*
>—4'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. u 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 ifj
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,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

u 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 latent
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.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 beingTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 t 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, andTHE 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 !M 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 !M 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 sustainingTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	135

or appearing to sustain interest in any one subject; on the
contrary, she liad, 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.

" A new 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 whoTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

*37

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 will 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.138	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" Oh,—only a novel!" replied Lucio 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 Road. 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 J
Mammon."THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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. 1 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 6 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 ]ohn 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.''x4o	THE 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, I 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 aTHE 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!" ekclaimed 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 1 I
call it damned impertinence—excuse the word—on the part
of a newspaper hack to presume to teach me what I ought to142	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 otherTHE 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 itTHE 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 apt
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 i
woman's love, tried and proved true through disaster and difr
ficulty,—of her unflinching faithfulness and devotion in dayf
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 inTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	145

Hie 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 way to do this was to talk about
Willowsmere. I saw that he winced at the vary 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
most 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 eouch, which, placed near the fire,i46	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
/Vcold,"—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 Ghesney 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.

J "Why, mother dear, I told you," said Lady Sibyl gently,
"Thatis Prince Lucio Rimanez, Papa's great friend."

The Countess's pallid hand still remained lifted, as though
it were frozen in air.

" What 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 assumedTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

anxiety. " Surely you remember all I have told you about
the prince? And also about this gentleman, Mr Geoffrey
Tempest?'7

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,'7 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."i48	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
descend 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 ITHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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,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 passionate 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 theremy 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 thatTHE 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 ewii
thoughts. Something in the music had instilled itself into
my blood, or so I fancied, and the clinging subtle sweetnessf
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.1'

" Or in yours !" I said quickly.

" Or in mine," he agreed coldly. " I have often told you
I am no saint.'1

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 towardsTHE 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 4 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
arpeggi. 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 too—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.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.

i ' 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 1" 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 wrereTHE 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
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."

"Oh—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 rigueur—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 ! 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 l" she replied quietly.

"You are indeed an enthusiastic partisan of hers !M 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 with 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
wild cries—

" Mercy!—mercy !—oh God!—God! Tell Sibyl!—pray
—pray to God,—pray-99

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 glance158	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-M

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
couldi 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 with 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. "I 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

"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 tlie room in
attendance on her sister, and she did not retail 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, the160	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 starsTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	161

are shining !—like great crown jewels—Deity's regalia 1
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.l6s	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 visitoi
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 anyTHE 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 afford 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/—and164	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 fol
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, "I'm 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 and166	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 all 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 they
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 literarv 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 nowa-
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 aTHE 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 temy 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 book168	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

get noticed on its own merits without any appeal to cliquism
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 wTrong 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. ITHE 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 Athenceum 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 which 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 few 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 heTHE 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's
work, galled and irritated me almost beyond endurance.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 which 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, I 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 then," 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 i 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 too 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 she 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. i1 McWhing would
tell you they do it out of sheer idiotcy;—the public would
answer that they choose her because she has genius.''THE SORROWS OF SATAN

"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 6 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 majeure. 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,—iawaxdly 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 6 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 I—
such as poor old forgotten Beranger sang of—

" les ^toiles qui filent,

' Qui filent,—qui filent—et disparaissent!' "

" Except—Mavis Clare !" I said.174	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

"True ! Except Mavis Clare !" 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!
IFie, 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 confidentialcontained 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 theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 grit.97

" I hate a fellow who grudges losing a few pounds at play,"
said one of these i 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 4 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

i

my aristocratic boon companions!—what utterly worthless,
useless, callous scoundrels !—and yet,—we associated with the
best 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 I Some-
times, but very seldom, Prince Rimanez joined our gambling
and music-hall parties, and on such occasions I noticed that176	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 !T'

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 to you;—it is, to me."

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

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 was 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 ! Every epithet of flattery bestowed upon me filled me178	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 u®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 I 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 i 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 i boom' expanded,—Londonc 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 didTHE 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,
u that if they had been with Noah in the ark according to thei8o	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.

'i 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 aTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	181

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.1'

" 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,'J 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 wilS
never have that chance again;—you are rich and you look it \K
" 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 what 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; you must
not, however, expect all men to be as self-restrained and as in-
different to human passions as yourself.''iS2	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,—expect 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
6 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 ratherTHE 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—but 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,0 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 ' society7 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.184	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 !M

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!" 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 non 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 notm	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 Lev6e 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 VIII. 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 popular " bluff KingTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	187

Hal,"—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 Royal 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 self-seekers, 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 Rimanezand 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-188	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
tisual 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?"

"Toplease 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

li* must have been about a week or ten days after the Lev6e
that I had the strange scene with Sibyl Elton *1 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
c 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
r shoe on a footstool and looked at it critically. "You see it's
x£he Catsups' 6 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, 6 Did
you think it possible !' Well, I flared up, and said of course
I thought it possible,—why shouldn't it be possible ? She:THE SORROWS OF SATAN

looked at me in the same way again and said, ' To the Cat-
sups ? with you P Now, you know, Mr Tempest, that was
real downright rudeness, and more than I could stand, so I just
gave way to my mind. 6 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, 6 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, an4
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
ljust 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 I"THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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—I 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 thz Mayflower, and
he fell on his knees and thanked God as soon as he touchedTHE 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 you. 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

**I am quite well," she answered. " But you are right in
saying I am tired. I am dreadfully tired 1"

''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 livings corpse with
the fearful fixed eyes and distorted mouth should actually be
my mother.''

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. " Whatever 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 hypocritesTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

whom I mistrust. When Diana Chesney is my step-mother, wO
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.

" Where is your 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 eyas
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. 'e Why don't you tell
me, as you tell my father, your purpose in coming here?THE SORROWS OF SATAN

Why don't you say to me, 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 upi96	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 restraint
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 I 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 foi sale now in England as utterly as the Circassian girlsTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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/'

"1 am sure you are right,'' I said, with a wholesome pang
of humiliation. " The book is worthless as literature,—it^is
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 in198

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 fi*id a girl better
than I am; I do not think you could in mj '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 amTHE 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, when 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.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" I shall never change, Sibyl, M 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-M

" 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 is a 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
in 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 were poor-''

"Oh, you might love me," she interrupted me with a
strange smile, " but you would not dare to say so !M

I was silent. Suddenly she laughed, and linked her arms
caressingly round my neck.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

"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 the 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 !n
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.

4' It shall be as you wish, my darling,'' I said. i i 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,,f she answered, still hiding her face.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 my
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 !''

44 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 4 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!"	N

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

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, I 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 1 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,7
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

His voice softened,—his eyes grew dreamy and less scorn-
ful,—and I looked at him in some astonishment.

" Why Lucio, 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 owa
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 it is a perfectly loathsome
object to me."

"Well,—some 'transmigrated' souls are loathsome objects
to look at," he declared imperturbably. " When they are
deprived of their respectable two-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!"

18206	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
$o 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 beT&E 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 independent208	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

opinions; if this is so, of course it will be a terrible tiling,
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 my 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!—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, andTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 X
have secured you a very fair imitation of it.'7

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,—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.

6' 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 !M

" 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.

"Are 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 V
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 filterings' 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. Geoffrey," 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 hereTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 f£te 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 carte 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 f£te 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 theTHE 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 ' Alleluia7 ! 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 earthTHE 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 with 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, I 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 in the sky; I am in the very best of humours, and
could not say an unkind word to my worst enemy."

He smiled.

4'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 few216	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-
fashioned' 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 alwaysTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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.M	,

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 !''

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 one218	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

I now looked upon could ever be capable of the intellectual
grasp and power of i 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 I" and the voice became more imperative, " take
it back and apologize !''

With a comical expression of resignation to circumstances,
i 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 i 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

" 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,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 someone 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.
I tried to converse, but could find nothing suitable to say,—
the sight of her filled me with too great a sensr 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 gatden,—I heard Lucio conversing on trifling matters of
society and literature generally, and every now and then he*
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. "Ibought the place,—on the recommendation of my
friend the prince here,—without looking at it.*7

" 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 ?"222	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,—I 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.
I 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 1 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 toTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 is 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 Riminez ?"

"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 whichTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

1 meant to be kind, but which I knew was somewhat

patronizing.

u 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,—
'1 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
not 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 * Mavis7 suit her so well.

" You see I know my Shelley !" she said with a little laughTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 blue-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 us226	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 hurt you?"

" Not at all!" returned Lucio affably and with a cold smile.
"I hope I have not hurt him,—or distressed you /"

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 notTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 !M

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 all 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 dow»
in excited groups at her feet.

" Here are my reviewers !M 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,9 and she pointed to a fat fussy fan tail. " He*28	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-Mall.' He knows his name
very well—see!" and she called merrily—" Pall-Mall I 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 encouragementTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 must 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.
44 What are their names ?''

She held up a little finger in playful warning.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 !M

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 my 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 tranquil 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, orTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 with 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 will 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 wroteTHE 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. "1 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 6 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 1 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

"How different you are—how widely different—to the
ordinary run of literary people !" I said involuntarily.

"Iam 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.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

"Be always as you are, Mavis Clare/' he said gently.
" Let nothing 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 theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

drive, where the carriage which was to take us to the station
already awaited us, that Lucio said—

" Well; now, what do you think of her ?"

" She is as unlike the accepted ideal of the female novelist
as she can well be,'7 I answered, with a laugh.

"Accepted ideals are generally mistaken ones,0 he ob-
served, watching me narrowly. 6 6 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.7 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!

" 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 thatTHE 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 nothing238	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 riviSre 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

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.'
Messrs 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#40	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 4 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 notTHE 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 him go with a sovereign, for which 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 good-will, to go and see his starving flock,—" for, be-
lieve me, Mr Tempest," said he, "I 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. If242	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 c entertainments
for the poor* got up by some of the aristocrats at the East
«nd, 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 wakeful 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 theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

suggestion Rimincz 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 poinis,—
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 4Phosphor'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 1 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 'lead,' for the
sake of ' being talked about,' and nothing more. Meanwhile,
Lucio, saying little to me concerning it, was busy planning*44	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

the ' betrothal-fSte' at Willowsmere, and designing all sorts
of 'surprise' entertainments for the guest$. 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 un-
literary; and yet I felt that the f£te at Willowsmere would lo9e
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 FrenchTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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. It 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 la
mode. Some day I 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.'1

" Evidently you like England !" 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 with246	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 of
Christ. That knowledge was forced upon me,—with con-
siderable pressure too.''THE SORROWS OF SATAN

"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 his248	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.
The 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-officials 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. When 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
displayed, 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 vulgarlyTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

called t 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, with Amiel, 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, Lucio," 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 curios /''

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 I 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 ofTHE 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 was long before I met you. Therefore
the book was not 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-pathsTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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!

22254	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
tI 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 loveliness, 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 was 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.''*56	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
1 Phosphor' in charge. But I remembered what Lucio hadTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

told me,—namely, that all the designs for the ffete 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 at258	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 offered
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,'-—hut they are quite in theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

minority and by the younger generation axe voted either ' old
cats' or ' bores.' Many of the ' cultured' mob that mow
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,—she was even
kind to Diana Chesney, who was also one of my guests, and26O	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 wellTHE 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 off26s	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

at a rapid run, presenting the appearance of a rolling ball of
blossom, xnerry 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 ofTHE 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.

4'Tell me," I said with a half-smile, "do you know how
to love yet?'7

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!
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 else,
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 want love ! I am starving, thirsting for it! I want to be
drowned in it, lost in it, killed by it! Nothing eke 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. ' Society1
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
his bride-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.
46 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."

mi 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."

44 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 within266	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 embossed 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 spectacle, 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. There proved, 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,'
6 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 theifTHE 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 curtail 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—6 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 4 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 I 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
war; 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 th next picture, and showed us a young and beautiful
girl is her early teens, lying on a luxurious couch en deshabille%
with a novel in hei hand, of which the title was plainly seen
by all—£ 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 other2?o	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 true picture!'' she said under her breath
44 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 4 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 which 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

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 !" 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 consolation 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 i 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 itsTHE 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 not scientifically correct,—have you not told us so ?
—but the skeleton and the worms were quite of your cult /
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 tend see my will-o'-the-
wisps lighting up."

Fresh curiosity was excited by this remark; the peopleTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	273

quickly threw off the gruesome and tragic impression made
by the strange 4 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 luminous 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
e 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 fragrant 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 changedTHE 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 own27<5	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 El ton.'' 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 V1 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*7S	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, fcll 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

nothing but the twinge of an old deep-seated malady,
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 I 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.
Yon 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 of280	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,—i 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."

I "It is just like you to run down your 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 ou*
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.''*8*	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 5tone; " though I shall never be able to express
my full gratitude in words.7'

"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 of 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 win-
ning-post a couple of yards or more ahead of his rival. Accla-
mations rent the air at the vigour displayed in the ' finish,'
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, now284	THE 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
jtainted 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.THfc 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.'99

I was silent for a minute or so out of sheer surprise, while
Ae 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 upon
their secret selves becomes unbearable because of the burdea286	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 costly 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 thet$S	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 redness
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
unable 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 is 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	2*9

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.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 !M
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 V he added gently. "All joy be
with you ! To us who are left behind, your absence will seem
long,—but to 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 betterTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 1
Aurevoir!"

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 picture-
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, denselyTHE 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 unseeingly,—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 strong
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 I 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 myselfTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 started 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
was 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 the place of the so-called " deathless7' 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 amazing294	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 cardsI"

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 theTHE 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 wreath 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 work,
—she was happy. And I—with my millions—-was wretched.
How was 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 where 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 miaid. I found Sibyl in the garden, reclining in a basket-
chair, her eyes fixed on the after-glow of the sunset, and inTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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. I 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 V9 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.'9

" 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,—
very 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 !M
she continued. " Imagine her 1—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, andTHE 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 halfTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 you can't believe in Him,—to have beautiful faiths
offered to you which you 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.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 woman ? 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 with 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 ^strainedTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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
inc ^finable 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 overTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 our set,—otherwise the tie would be
impossible of endurance. Come!"

" We cannot live together on such an understanding, Sibyl I"THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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.9'

I made no answer. We entered the house, and dined,—
Sibyl keeping up a perfect fire 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 notionTHE 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 poseurs 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 refuge
and delight, and where at evening a perfect colony of nightin-THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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,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 you" 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 theirTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

houses, and when I have gone, I have generally been sorry for
it afterwards.7 7

"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—
4 4 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 been 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 for my 1 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$0$	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. u 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 theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 myTHE 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. "ITHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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, I 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 cornerTHE 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 jand
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 puffed 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 corded 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

"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 anymore,—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 impelled, almost against my will, to say what I did just
now.'1

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 never 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 cruellyTHE 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 poor 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 agonies 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—few <5f 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 I"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 e 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 am perfectly happy," she answered, smiling. "I have
nothing in all the world to wish for, except that I may die a*
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 we walked on
slowly in absolute silence. Then at last Sibyl spoke—

"I 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 women,
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 incomJ>rise, I have neverTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 been3i8	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 woman."

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

XX VI11

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 6 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

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-
loners, 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 runTHE 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 see 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-
rguished' 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

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' intoTHE 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 am
anxious to mix with 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 i 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 desired the presence of Rim&nez 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 exactly alike too,—and moreover have always been alike
from the da} of Solomon in all his glory, down to the present
blessed era 01 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 Cceur de Lion;
there was something original and striking about that man, and
I presume he would have been well worth talking to. AndTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

Charlemagne was doubtless, as the slangey young man of the
day would observe, ' not half bad.' But for the rest,—un fice /
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 suppose
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 say326	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 Willowsmere 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 Rimanez.

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 % strange look of pain in her eyes.

" How h? 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.'1

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 theTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

rfiost 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.'f

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 astonish328	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

them by the excess of luxury 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 ! 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
eollect 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,'1
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 who33°

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 4 stout' in the presence of a beautiful woman
to w hom 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 though 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 with a significance to which I paid no heed
whatever.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" Not want you I" 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, '4 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 !''

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,—T ve come to stay /"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 hi?
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 the
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-
rality in woman. So I was careful to let no hint of my actual
position 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 frierry, and anon depressed: yet never
had she displayed a more captivating grace and charm ofTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 noWy 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
6 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 veryTHE 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 vibrante 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 * woman-
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 with 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 aTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	335

step or two towards the shadow of a broad elm 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
ihave 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 I have nothing to wish for,—except—when the time
comes—a happy death. It is true I am not rich,—but then I
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 /—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.
One 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 aTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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!" 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, lei338	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

us go in—it is getting quite late I 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 I 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;—I 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 ITHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 me /"—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, I 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 !
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. Tiiese 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 notTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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!"

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 onlyTHE 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,
u 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. "lama curious creature alto-
gether ! Wealth is mine and I care not a jot for it,—power is
mine and I loathe its responsibilityin fact, I would rather
be anything but what I am. Look at the lights of your ' home,THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 ! Fortunate
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.
"I 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 I
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 hef
fullest and brightest.

"True!" he replied. "Things which have meaning and
are valuable, have all to do with money or appetite, 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

XXX

The very next night but one after Lucio's strange inter-
view with Mavis Clare, 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
m the outlying woods 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 element346	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; I concluded that it was because she had what I elected
to call 'literary 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 brighterTHE 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 lives348	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

of the saints, the centre subject being the martyrdom of St
Stephen. Advancing with soft caution to the balustrade 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 1 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 voice—for his /—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

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 what 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 inTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

lightning-like mockery. " I 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 movementTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

as though to fling her from him,—but she clung to his arm,—
clung 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 1 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 !'' and 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!"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 yours !—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 will 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 !M he said. " Be afraid of me, as of an un-
known Terror ! O pitiless Heaven !—to think of it!—but a
night ago 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 his face to the light where it streamedTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 heard him with amazement and awe,—I could
not imagine what he meant by his strange words,—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 naturalTHE 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
questionI 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 *" she mur-
mured passionately. " My king !—my god ! The cruel things
you say but deepen my love 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 I
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 theii
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! I 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 thrust 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

" Lucio Rimanez, I have borne your insults as I would be&r
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 ! Few women attain to such coherence !"

"I will put an end to this life of mine," she went on,
paying 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 ?'9 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 cottage 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 never358	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 thisTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

wanton I" 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 ?''360	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

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, youTHE 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.1'

She turned, as if to go;—I still stared dumbly at her, find-
ing no words 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!''

" Innocent!" 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, will society, it§elf 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-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 owe you nothing !'' she responded boldly. " T 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 incompatibility 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 servente, 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 I 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

•3<53

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 !" I 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 in 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 most dear 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 t6 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! . . .,rI gasped—"Lucio . . . my friend! . . .
I think, . . . Iam, . . . 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 i 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 eacli 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's own 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 miserable366	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 pianissimof
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 I consider it better to kill
one's sell' 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 exciaimed, almost leaping from my chair. " You ask too
much

" My good fellow, I ask no more than is asked and expected
of a hundred c 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 t"THE SORROWS OF SATAN

36 7

"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 yon
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 BerUn 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 floating368	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

scandal. Look here—don't decide anything hastily,—come
up to town with me for a day, and leave youi 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 ! My 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 perhaps I am
more than man ! at anyrate 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 hours8
sleep."

" I would take poison from your hand!" I answered reck*THE SORROWS OF SATXN	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 your 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.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 pardon for the wrong you have
thus done to me, and the injury you have brought upon my
name. I leave you to the judgment of your own conscience,
—if you have one,—which is doubtful. Such women as youTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	37r

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-wedded 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-99372

THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" Why, then I should never have se:en her /" I responded
bitterly. 44 It was through you I met her first."

" True !" and he eyed me thoughtfully. " I am very un-
fortunately placed!—it is almost as if I were to blame,
though no one could be more innocent or well-intentioned
than myself!" He smiled,—then went on very gravely—
" I really should avoid scandalous gossip if I were you,—I 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!''

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 avoided his gaze;—the recollection of the horrible wingedTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

thing he persisted in imagining to be the transmigrated soul
of an evil woman, was repugnant to me. Almost 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 very 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 ears, 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 woman, 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 assumption 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 4 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 meTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

" des fleurs etranges *

Avec leurs airs de sceptres d'anges;

De thyrses lumineux pour doigts de s£raphins,—

Leurs parfums sont trop torts, tout ensemble, et trop fins!"

I shaded my eyes with one hand,—yet under that shade 1
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. This, 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
refusing 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 1 society'! How many
men there are who deliberately choose tainted women for
their wives, and leave the innocent uncared for! Take Mavis
Clare-"

* Edmond Rostand. ' La Princesse Lointaine*'THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" 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
BOt 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.
4t It is as though I should propose your stealing the sacra-
mental cup from a church, with 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:

4 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'out ward shape
The unpolluted temple of the mind,

And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence
Till all be made immortal!' "

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. Plenty of it too, disposed in the proper
places. It is the most perishable sort of commodity,—an ill-
ness spoils it,—a trying climate 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 roue 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
4 ladies' 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 1" I said.

"True !" and he looked at me with kindly commiseration,
"Let us put the whole mischief down to the 6 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 plans. 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 maiiy
attractions; and lazy luxury on a dahabeah will soothe yourTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

overwrought nerves. I suggest our leaving England within a
week.'*

I 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 Great 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 to 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—

"Return 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.378	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" I think nothing—I 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 to me? These, and endless other 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 4 not knowing what to do.' I motioned them
back by a gesture and turned again to Mavis Clare.THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" Tell me,—quick—what is wrong?"

"We fear something has happened 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.

44 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.

44 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,—theSSo	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 not find it. My hand came in contact with various
familiar things which I recognised by touch,—rare bits of
china, bronzes, vases, pictures, —costly trifles that were
heaped up, as I knew, in this particular apartment with a
lavish luxury and disregard of cost befitting a wanton eastern
empress of old time,—cautiously feeling my way along, I
started with terror to see, as I thought, a tall figure outline
itself suddenly against the darkness,—white, spectral and
luminous,—a figure that, as I stared at it aghast, raised a
pallid hand and pointed me forward with a menacing air of
scorn. In my dazed horror at this apparition, or delusion, I
stumbled over the heavy trailing folds of a velvet portiere, and
knew by this that I 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 modernTHE 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.382	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-bilk 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 to 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—now / 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 I 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 me be left alone,—alone with
her;—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 allowed 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. Why384	THE SORROWS OP 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 no God ! I believe in an
unknown Force that encompasses me and hunts me down to
the grave, but nothing more ! She thought as I do,—and with
Teason,—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 rose-silk (negligee* and jewels,
that gazed at itself so pertinaciously in the shining mirror. ITHE 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 that 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 perceived
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 the corpse stared always, into the mirror which pic-
tured us both, we ' twain in one,' as the sentimentalists aver
of wedded folk, though in truth it often happens that there
are no two 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 th:£
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 to 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 1 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
pardon for a blow to his own amour propre/ If he had
studied my nature, entered into my emotions, or striven in theTHE 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,—I
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
1 look pretty' and take pleasure in my clothes, I was even at
the age of ten, capable of a certain amount of coquetry. Old
routs, 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 cocottes 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 were388	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

'beneath' me;—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	389

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 I was taken up to
town with my parents to c 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 was 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 away 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 of 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 listless, 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 vicesTHE 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 and 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
however, 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 otice 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 X 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 orTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 strict enquiries as to their actual extent of for-
tune. I then understood, for the first time, that I was for
sale. I listened in silence till he had finished,—then I asked
him—4 Love, I suppose, is not to be considered in the matter T
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-
perience. 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,—I know 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 andTHE 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 obscenitiesTHE 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, I did so, and little by
little the insidious abomination of it filtered into my mind and
stayed there. I began to think about it,—and byand-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 highest 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 divinely 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 poison, 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 abandonedTHE 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 ' Laus Veneris'—1' Faus-
tine' and ' Anactoria,' till I 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 I read over and over again his verses
6 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 e 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 bone.

When we would see 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,—

What 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 the 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 way as far396	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 I 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 careTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 called a ' success1 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' m£lee,—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 fashionable398	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,
passde 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 appearanceTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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,—^ 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 of parvenus and 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 always felt soothed and comforted for a while inTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 messenger. 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 would 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 flashed 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 eyes appeared now to regard me as steadily as herself
in the opposite mirror,—the head was a little more droppedTHE 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/" 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 c settled' in life.
4 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 the402	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 Lucio'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-days 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 pause here, and look at myself in the mirror. How
beautiful lam! I note with admiration the deep and dewyTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 loye 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,—all! 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 cjoud to dim its radiance by way of the
suggestion of pity! If there were a God, I fancy He would4<>4	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

be like the sun,—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 nowTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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. Tt 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 lustre, 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 foolish406	THE SORROWS OP SATAN

babbling attempt to satisfy the powers invisible,-—I could
not, out of sheer association, appeal to Mr Swinburne's
e 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, i is silence.'

I have been staring dreamily and in a sort of stupefaction
at the little poison-flask in my hand. It is quite empty now. 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! 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 npy
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 thatTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	407

she is only the phantom of my own brain—that I fancy she is
here, while knowing she is dead.

Torture indescribable has made of me a writhing, moaning,
helpless creature for the past few minutes. Truly that drug
was deadly,—the pain is horrible . . . horrible ! ... it has
left me quivering in every limb and palpitating in every
nerve. Looking at my face in the glass I see that it has 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 to408	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

myself, Sibyl! Sibyl!' and can scarcely hear it. My mother
stands beside me,—apparently waiting;—a little while ago
I thought I heard her say ' Come, Sibyl! Come to your chosen
lover !' Now I am conscious of a great silence everywhere,
... a numbness has fallen upon me, and a delicious respite
from pain,—but I see my face in the glass and know it is the
face of the dead. It will soon be all over,—a few more 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 reason 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! . . . Let me write—write—while I can! Let
me yet hold fast the thread which fastens me to earth,—give
me time—time before I drift out, lost in yonder blackness and
flame ! Let me write for others the awful Truth, as I see it,—
there is No death ! None—none !—I cannot die / I am pass-
ing out of my body,—I am being wrenched away from it inch
by inch in inexplicable mystic torture,—but I am not dying,
—I am being carried forward into a new life, vague and vast
♦ . . I see a new world full of dark forms, half shaped yetTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

shapeless,—they float towards me beckoning me on ! I am
actively conscious—I hear, I think, I know ! Death is a mere
human dream,—a comforting fancy; it has no real existence,
—there is nothing in the Universe but Life. O hideous
misery !—I 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 me 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—I live / To my despair and
terror,—to my remorse and agony, I live !—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
voices! .. , . too late !—too late !—the scarlet wingsTHE 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 6 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 JTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	4H

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 frantically at the portidre 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

1 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 about412	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 aearests' and ' not-lost-but-gone-beforesTHE 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 unfeigned 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 company414	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 pretty 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 not 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 risqut 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 beep
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

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 mouth. 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.

"Oh 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. u 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 is meant for your eyes," I retorted impatiently.
44 It is meant for everybody's eyes apparently,—it is addressed416	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

to nobody in particular. There is a mention of you in it. 1
beg—nay I 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. I looked
covertly at the woman whose 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 owner,—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 woman 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 Glare's
face and form,—I saw her eyes fill with 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 passion, 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 you 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
indescribable 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 know, 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 to4i 8	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

argue with you. If this last letter of the unhappy girl you
wedded cannot open 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—Sibyls voice!—what
does she say?—10 God\ have mercy! . . . I know who claims
my worship now and drags me into yonder rolling world of
flame . . . his name is—' ''

"Well!" I interrupted eagerly. "She breaks off there;

his name is-99

"Lucio Rimanez !M 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 to me, 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	4*9

"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
lead 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-banteringly—

"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 ta
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.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 other 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 gathered 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 joined 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
me>—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' whom 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 Chesney,—
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 1 pay' best,—and also, because, though he 6 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 them,
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 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,
wrought in purest white marble, the chief adornment being
the centre-figure of an angel ready for flight, with the face ofTHE SORROWS OF SAT&N

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 Carrmgton, 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, xinless
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 me—she is not yours, but mine f"
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 onTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	42$

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 observe
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
repulsive 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 perverted and
no longer their 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?n 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 gage.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 would 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 faith," 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 have 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 veryTHE 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-
jtaining 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,—you 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 feature gave his expression something of the ghastly
and terrible. After a pause he turned his eyes upon me,-—4i6	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 foi
Mm to redeem the Devil 1"THE SOMtOWS OF SATAN

427

"I do not understand you," 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 realize 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
/oice 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 is428	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 your 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 sped 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
dreadful uncertainty of myself \ as 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 to 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 toTHE 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-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 !"

"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 i 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.

"Slop the dahabeah, Azimah," he said. "We will rest
here for the might."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 9 City
Beautiful'!

XXXIX

A vision of majestic buildings, vast, stately and gigantic f
—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 marble embankments over-
looking the river,—of lotus-lilies growing thickly below, by
the water's edge,—of music, that echoed in silver and brazen
twangings from the shelter of shady gardens and covered bal-THE SORROWS OF SATAN

conies,—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 I 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 silveryTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 expanse 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 ta
mine?"THE SORROWS OF SATAN

"Precisely!" he responded. el 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.'7

"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
I/ucio'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 hadTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 au 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 the436	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. u 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
RimSnez 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 inTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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, with 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 4 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-4j8	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

ing over a smooth and sunlit sea, I retired to rest m 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 yacht 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 myTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

dead wife, with despair in her eyes and an unuttered warning
on her lips. This was not all. One day in the full sunfiglit
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, thereat 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 was best to be done. There was no doubt
I was very ill;—these 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.

'i Meanwhile"—I muttered to myself—" I will say nothing,
. . . not even to Lucio. He would only smile, . . . and I
should hate him ! . . .1'

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 1 . . . God !—I could endure it no longer!
Leaping from my hammock, I ran towards the vessel's edge,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 alone 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.

" You say that!" I exclaimed in acute anguish,—"you 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 ! I am your Enemy /''

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 !—I was a prisoner! My indignation at this discovery442	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 oiice 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 Jmow Me now, man whom my millions of dross
have made wretched?—or do you need me to tell you WHO
I am ?' '

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 encirclingTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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
are, stripped soul-naked,—not as you seem. 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!"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,—
you 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 J"

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 I
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 //"

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 not448	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 !"a

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 think / 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 unblamableTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

man;—you are not what the world calls a criminal,—you
have murdered no one,—you have stolen no neighbour's
goods,—your unchastities and adulteries are those of every
i 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 somewhat 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 Sorrowful
Starl Be no longer blind, millionaire whose millions have
ministered to Self without relieving sorrow!—for when the
world 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.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 !M 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 Willowsmere ! 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 !—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

" 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 destroyTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

mankind,—but man has not sworn to yield to my tempting.
He is free !—let him resist, and I 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 with 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
I 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 with the shadow and the brightness of
wings!—vast pinions of crimson flame began to unfurl and
spread upwards all round the ice-bound vessel,—upward?
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 from
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 that Amiel? . . . that Being, stern as
a figure of deadliest fate, with sable wings and tortured coun-THE SORROWS OF SATAN

tenance? If so, I knew hirn 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, Amid!" said the great sad Voice again—
u 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
her 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 deemed 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 little guiding love arid456	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. u 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 unableTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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
space 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 still458	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

stranger arrogance; every detail of my life was suddenly
presented to me as in a magic mirror, and I read my own
chronicle of paltry intellectual 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 multitudinous 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, and 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 himTHE SORROWS OF SATAN

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 sublime 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 goldeiv 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.460	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 "last 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 toTHE 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 cometh unto Me will I in no wise cast
out." 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 mystic agony had so far saved me—

" God only ! Whatsoever He shall choose for me in life,
in death, and after death, 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
thL oeck 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.462	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

" This is an English vessel/' he said. "We are bound foi
Southampton. Our helmsman saw you floating ahead,—w*
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 sun shone gloriously,—and far off the pearly rim of
Shakespeare's ' happy isle' glistened jewel-like upon the edgeTHE 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.

c'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 was I repeated. " What do you mean?"

" Have you not heard ?" he asked excitedly.

" Heard? 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 columns464	THE SORROWS OF SATAN

without a word. There I saw in large type—" A Millionaire
Ruined ! Enormous Frauds ! Monster Forgeries ! Gigantic
Swindle ! <3n 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
jbusiness 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 itTHE 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.

4 " 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.

1 " Exactly! The principle of the thing has been perfectly
<iarried 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
iiumerous lies as well. I was called 'mad,' 'unprincipled/
thwarting the ends of justice,'—and sundry other names,
\Miile scurrilous civilities known only to the penny paragraphist
^ere heaped upon me by the score. To complete my entire
sktisfaction, 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
liy 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 neglectedTHE 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 4 roy-
alties/ and promising more in due course, should the 'run7
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, . . . when 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
bnow ! 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 everyone 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 youTHE 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 /
For I feel I shall read in your eyes the secret of happiness /M

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 they47©	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, I came face
to face with-Lucio ! The same as ever,—the periect 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 ParliamentTHE SORROWS OF SATAN	471

walking singly and in groups towards the 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 !

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Books by George Barr McCutcheon

BREWSTER'S MILLIONS

Mr. Montgomery Brewster is required to spend a million
dollars in one year in order tc inhent seven millions. He must
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CASTLE CRANEYCROW

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GRAUSTARK: A Story of a Love Behind a Throne.

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THE SHERRODS. With illustrations by C. D.Williams
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BREWSTER'S MILLIONS: By George Baw
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THE LITTLE MINISTER: By J. M. Barrie.

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CHECKERS: By Henry M. Blossom, Jr.

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THE CHRISTIAN: By Hall Caine.
THE ETERNAL CITY: By Hall Caine.

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IN THE PALACE OF THE KING: By F. Marion
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A love story of Old Madrid, with full page illustra-
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JANICE MEREDITH: By Paul Leicester Ford.v

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struggle with nature.

THE SILENT PLACES

A powerful story of strenuous endeavor and fateful priva-
tion in the frozen North, embodying also a detective story of
much strength and skill. The author brings out with sure
touch and deep understanding the mystery and poetry of the
still, frost-bound forest.

THE CLAIM JUMPERS

, iale of a Western mining camp and the making of aman»
with which a charming young lady has much to do. The
tenderfoot has a hard time of it, but meets the situation
shows the stuff he is made of, and " wins out."

THE WESTERNERS

A tale of the mining camp and the Indian country, foil of
color and thrilling incident.

THE MAGIC FOREST: A Modern Fairy Story.

"No better book could be put in a young boy's hands,**
says the New York Sun. It is a happy blend of knowledge
of wood life with an understanding of Indian character, as
well as that of small boys.

Each volume handsomely bound in cloth. Price, seventy-
five cents per volume, postpaid.	1

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers
\z DUANE STREET :: NEW YORKThis book is a preservation facsimile produced for
the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign.
It is made in compliance with copyright law
and produced on acid-free archival

60# book weight paper
which meets the requirements of
ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (permanence of paper).

Preservation facsimile printing and binding
by

Northern Micrographics
Brookhaven Bindery
La Crosse, Wisconsin
2014