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Page 30
"My music,--my music!" gasped the voice; "my music, or I shall die!"
"Die? Yes, it were well you should die. You cumber the earth! Shall I
do it?" Helwyse muttered to his heart,--"merely as a means of
culture!"
Perhaps it was said only in a mood of sardonic jesting. The next
moment, no doubt, Balder Helwyse would have retired to his cabin,
leaving the voice of darkness forever. But at that moment the hurried
flash of a lantern on the captain's bridge fell full on the young
man's face and shoulders, gleaming in his eyes, and lighting up the
masses of yellow hair and mighty beard. He was standing with one hand
resting on the taffrail. The dim halo of the fog, folding him about,
made him look like a spirit.
X.
HELWYSE RESISTS THE DEVIL.
As the light so fell, hoarse voices shouted, and then a concussion
shivered through the steamer, and her headway was slackened. But of
this Helwyse knew nothing; for the voice had burst forth in a cry of
fear, amazement, and hate; and in another breath he found himself
clutched tightly in long, wiry arms, and felt panting breath hot
against his face.
He struggled at first to free himself,--but he was held in the grip of
a madman! Then did the turbid current of his blood begin to leap and
tingle, and strange half-thoughts darted through his mind like
deformed spectres, capering as they flew! The bulwark of his will was
overthrown; he could not poise himself long enough to recover his
self-sway. He was sliding headlong down a steep, the velocity momently
increasing.
Was it Balder Helwyse that was struggling thus furiously, his body
full of fire, his brain of madness, his heart quick-beating with
savage, wicked, thirsty joy? His soul--his own no longer--was
bestridden by a frantic demon, who, brimming over with hot glee,
drove him whirling blindly on, with an ever-growing purpose that
surcharged each smallest artery, and furnished a condensed dart of
malice wherewith to stab and stab again the opposing soul. He waxed
every instant madder, wickeder, more devilishly exultant; and now,
although panting, breathless, pricking at every pore from the agony of
the strain, he could scarce forbear screaming with delight! for he
felt he was gaining, and--O ecstasy!--knew that his adversary felt it
also, and that his heart was as full of black despair and terror as
was his conqueror's of intolerable triumph! Gaining still!
Strange, that all through this wild frenzy in which body and soul were
rapt, the essential part of Balder Helwyse seemed to be looking on,
with a curious, repellent twist of feature, commenting on what was
going forward, and noting, with quiet interest and precision, each
varying phase of the struggle,--noting, as of significance, that the
sway of the demon of murder made the idea of other crimes seem beyond
words congenial, enticing, delicious!
Steadily through this storm of lawless fury has the predestined
victory been drawing near! The throbbing of his enemy's
heart,--Helwyse feels it; did ever lover so rejoice in the
palpitations of his mistress? O the wine of life! drunk from the cup
of murder! Hear how the wretch's voice breaks choking from his
throat!--he would beg for mercy, but cannot, shall not! Keep your
fingers in his throat; the other hand creeps warily downwards. Now
hurl him up,--over!--
* * * * *
But with what an ugly gulp the black water swallowed his body!
XI.
A DEAD WEIGHT.
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