Tyranny of the Dark

And so he trod in weary circles, returning always to the same point, with an almost audible groan. "Why, why was that charming girl involved in all this uncanny, hellish, destructive business? Clarke claims her. On him her fate depends. Perhaps at this moment her name and hideous reproductions of her face are being printed in all the sensational papers of the city. Oh, that crazy preacher! It may be that he has already made her rescue impossible." And always the dark, disturbing thought came at the end to trouble him. "Can she ever regain a normal relation with the world--even if I should interfere? She should have been freed from this traffic long ago. Can the science of suggestion reach her? Am I already too late?"

The conception that sank deepest and remained most abhorrent in his musings was that conveyed in her own tragic words: "It seems to me I am becoming more and more like a public piano, an instrument on which any one can strum--and the other world is so crowded, you know!"

"If there is any manhood left in Lambert he must assert it or I will throttle Clarke myself," he muttered through clinched teeth. "I ran away two years ago--I evaded my duty yesterday, but I do not intend to do so now. I will not sit by and see that sweet girl's will, her very reason, overthrown by a fanatic preacher eager for notoriety. I will see her again and demand to know from her own lips whether she is in consent to be his wife. I cannot believe it till she tells me so, and then I can decide as to future action."

And at the moment he was comforted by the recollection of something timidly confiding in her parting smile.