|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 15
My brain is quite clear again now, and I can think over
what has occurred. It is absurd to suppose that it is
merely weakness and force of habit. I tried to explain
it in that way the other night, but it will no longer
suffice. It is something much deeper and more terrible
than that. Why, when I was at the Mardens' whist-
table, I was dragged away as if the noose of a rope had
been cast round me. I can no longer disguise it from
myself. The woman has her grip upon me. I am in her
clutch. But I must keep my head and reason it out and
see what is best to be done.
But what a blind fool I have been! In my enthusiasm
over my research I have walked straight into the pit,
although it lay gaping before me. Did she not herself
warn me? Did she not tell me, as I can read in my own
journal, that when she has acquired power over a
subject she can make him do her will? And she has
acquired that power over me. I am for the moment at
the beck and call of this creature with the crutch. I
must come when she wills it. I must do as she wills.
Worst of all, I must feel as she wills. I loathe her
and fear her, yet, while I am under the spell, she can
doubtless make me love her.
There is some consolation in the thought, then, that
those odious impulses for which I have blamed myself do
not really come from me at all. They are all
transferred from her, little as I could have guessed it
at the time. I feel cleaner and lighter for the
thought.
April 8. Yes, now, in broad daylight, writing coolly
and with time for reflection, I am compelled to confirm
every thing which I wrote in my journal last night. I
am in a horrible position, but, above all, I must not
lose my head. I must pit my intellect against her
powers. After all, I am no silly puppet, to dance at
the end of a string. I have energy, brains, courage.
For all her devil's tricks I may beat her yet. May! I
MUST, or what is to become of me?
Let me try to reason it out! This woman, by her own
explanation, can dominate my nervous organism. She can
project herself into my body and take command of it.
She has a parasite soul; yes, she is a parasite, a
monstrous parasite. She creeps into my frame as the
hermit crab does into the whelk's shell. I am
powerless What can I do? I am dealing with forces of
which I know nothing. And I can tell no one of my
trouble. They would set me down as a madman.
Certainly, if it got noised abroad, the university
would say that they had no need of a devil-ridden
professor. And Agatha! No, no, I must face it alone.
III
I read over my notes of what the woman said when she
spoke about her powers. There is one point which fills
me with dismay. She implies that when the influence is
slight the subject knows what he is doing, but cannot
control himself, whereas when it is strongly exerted he
is absolutely unconscious. Now, I have always known
what I did, though less so last night than on the
previous occasions. That seems to mean that she has
never yet exerted her full powers upon me. Was ever a
man so placed before?
Yes, perhaps there was, and very near me, too. Charles
Sadler must know something of this! His vague words of
warning take a meaning now. Oh, if I had only listened
to him then, before I helped by these repeated sittings
to forge the links of the chain which binds me! But I
will see him to-day. I will apologize to him for
having treated his warning so lightly. I will see if
he can advise me.
4 P. M. No, he cannot. I have talked with him, and he
showed such surprise at the first words in which I
tried to express my unspeakable secret that I went no
further. As far as I can gather (by hints and
inferences rather than by any statement), his own
experience was limited to some words or looks such as I
have myself endured. His abandonment of Miss Penclosa
is in itself a sign that he was never really in her
toils. Oh, if he only knew his escape! He has to
thank his phlegmatic Saxon temperament for it. I am
black and Celtic, and this hag's clutch is deep in my
nerves. Shall I ever get it out? Shall I ever be the
same man that I was just one short fortnight ago?
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|