Little by little the story came from him.  Perhaps I urged him but I think the larger impelling motive to speak was his conscience which drove him on to confession.  He needed another mind, another heart, to help him bear his burden.  And the years had taught him that the secrets of his lips were mine.  I could be as silent, when I chose, as a mummy.  He had not named me old Dry-as-dust for nothing.

It seems that when Jerry left us at the Manor that afternoon and took to the woods he had no very clear notion of what he was going to do.  All that he knew was that he could not bear the sight or touch or hearing of his fellow beings, least of all of those of us who were kind to him.  In fact, he had no very clear notion of anything, for his brain was whirling with terrible grinding, reiterating blows like machinery that is out of order.  What thoughts he had were chaotic, mere fragments of incidents, and conversations jumbled and mostly irrelevant.  But the vision of the figures in the automobile dominated all.  I am sure that he was mentally unsound and that his actions were instinctive.  He walked furiously, because walk he must, because violent physical exercise had always been his panacea, and because the very act of locomotion was an achievement of some sort.  After awhile he found himself running swiftly along the paths that led to the Sweetwater, and then following the stream through the gorge in the hills, leaping over the rocks until he reached the wall and the broken grille.  There he paused for a moment and tried to reason with himself.  But he found that he could not think and that his legs still urged him on.  They were bent on carrying him to Briar Hills, he knew that much now, and that he had no power to stop them.  The violence of his exercise, he said, had cleared the chaos from his brain and only the vision of the red automobile remained, Marcia’s roadster.  He knew it well.  Had he not driven it?  There was no mistake.  It crossed his disordered brain that red for a machine was a frightful color, a painful color it seemed to him, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought that before.  Red, blood color, the color that seemed to be in his eyes at that very moment.  All the trees were tinged with it, the rocks, even the pools in the brook, around the edges especially and they had always seemed so cool, so very cool.

He leaped down the rocks and before he realized it had crawled under the broken railing and was in the forest beyond.  He did not run now but walked quickly and with the utmost care over fallen tree-trunks and rocks, avoiding the paths and seeking the deep woods, still moving ever nearer to his goal.  He made a wide detour around the Laidlaws’ place and went half a mile out of his way to avoid the sight of some farmers working in an open field.  As he neared Marcia’s land he grew more crafty, even crawling upon his hands and knees across a clearing where there was little cover.  He had no notion as yet of what he was going to do when he got there except that he hoped to find the girl and Lloyd together.

He saw the house at last and the garden, from a distance.  The house had a red roof.  Red again!  It glared horribly in the afternoon sunlight.  He turned his head so that he might not look at it and moved stealthily around a stone wall toward the woods beyond the garden Marcia’s woods, pine woods they were, their floor carpeted with brown needles where he and she had used to go and walk of an afternoon to the rocks by Sweetwater Spring, the source of the stream, they said, which Jerry had named the “blushful Hippocrene,” the fountain of the Muses who met there to do Marcia, their goddess, honor.

Marcia, his goddess.  And Chan Lloyd! Would they be there?  He hoped so.  The whole success of his venture seemed to depend upon seeing them together.  It was her favorite spot.  She had led Jerry to believe that the crevice among the rocks by the spring, a natural throne sculptured by nature, was his, his only, and that he was her king.  That had always seemed a very beautiful thought to Jerry.  She used to sit at his feet, her arms upon his knees, look up at him and tell him of his dominion over her and all the world; her “fighting-god” he had once been, and then again her Pan, and she a dryad or an oread.

Jerry crept nearer, stealthily.  He had learned the craft of the woods years ago, and made no sound.  He stalked that grove with the keenness of a deerslayer, moving around through the undergrowth until he was quite near the rocks.  He could hear no voices as yet, but something told him that they must be there.  It was a very secluded spot; it would have been a pity to have had to go on to the house where Miss Gore and the servants would hear and see.  He crawled on his hands and knees, approaching slowly and with some pains.  He still heard no sound, but at last reached a ridge of rock within a few feet of the spring and heard voices, lowered, guilty voices they seemed to him.  He peered cautiously over.  They were there, side by side on the rocky ledge.

Jerry told me that at this moment he seemed suddenly to grow strangely calm.  The noises in his head had ceased and he felt a curious sense of quiet exaltation.  He couldn’t explain this.  I think it was a purely mental reaction after many months of spiritual coma.  He got to his feet and even before they heard the sounds of his footsteps he stood before them.

They must have been very much alarmed at Jerry’s appearance for, after dashing hotfoot through the underbrush and crawling among the rocks, his clothing must have been disarranged and his hair dirty and disordered.  The expression of his face, too, in spite of his boasted calm, could hardly have been pleasant to contemplate, for I had had a glimpse of it that morning in the motor and I am sure that for an hour or more he had been mad quite mad.  He said that they sprang apart suddenly and that Lloyd rose with a swaggering air and faced him.  But it seemed that the current of Jerry’s thought was diverted by Marcia, who had started up and then sank back upon the rock, addressing him in her softest tones.

“Why, Jerry!” she cried.  “How you startled me!”

It was the first time, Jerry said, that the caressing tones of the girl’s voice had made no impression upon him.  In two strides he was alongside of her, within arm’s reach of both of them.  He looked dangerous, I think, for Lloyd edged off a little.  Marcia kept her gaze fixed upon his face and what she read there was hardly reassuring.

“Jerry!” she cried again.  “What does this mean?  Your clothes are torn; your face scratched.  Has has something happened to you?”

The question was unfortunate, for it loosened Jerry’s thick tongue.

“Yes.  Something’s happened,” he muttered, moving a hand across his brows as though to clear his thoughts.  And then: 

“I’ve waked up, that’s all,” he growled.

“Waked!  I don’t understand,” her voice still gentle, appealing, incredulous.

“Yes, awake.  You’re false as hell.”

“Oh,” she started back at that and the venturesome Lloyd took a pace forward.

“I say, Benham, I ” He got no further, for Jerry without even looking at him, swept his left arm around, the gesture of a giant bothered by a troublesome insect.  But it caught the fellow full in the chest, and sent him reeling backward.  Jerry’s business just now was with Marcia Van Wyck.

“You understand what I mean,” he went on quickly.  “You’ve played false with me.  You’ve always played false.  I saw you there this morning kissing this man, the way you kissed me, the way you kiss others for all that I know.”

“You’re mad.  You insult me.”  She rose, pale and trembling, but facing him hardily.

“No, I’m not mad.  Nothing that I can say can insult you.”

“Chan!” She appealed.

It was a fatal mistake, for at the word Lloyd came forward again, bent on making some show of resistance.  Jerry turned on him with a snarl, for the fellow had foolishly put up his hands.  A few blows passed and then Jerry told what happened rather apologetically “It was a pity, Roger.  It wasn’t altogether his fault, but he is a bounder.  My fist struck his face, seemed to smear it, literally, all into a blot of red.  It wasn’t like hitting a man in the ring, it was like like poking a bag full of dirty linen.  The whole fabric seemed to give way.  He toppled back, turned a complete somersault and collapsed.”

I made no comment.  I already knew that Lloyd hadn’t been killed.  The girl Marcia seemed stricken dumb for a moment and found her voice only when Jerry turned toward her again.

“Jerry,” she cried.  “It is horrible.  You’re a brute beast ”

Jerry only pointed at the prostrate figure slowly struggling to its knees.

“Go and kiss him,” he cried.  “Go.  Kiss him now.  He’s on his knees to you, waiting for you.”

While they watched, Lloyd got to his feet, turned one look of terror in Jerry’s direction and then fled blindly into the woods, like one possessed of a devil.

Jerry laughed.  It couldn’t have been very pretty laughter, for the girl covered her face with her hands and shrank away from him.

“How could you?” she stammered.  “How could you?”

“You were mine.  He wanted you.”

“Jerry I .  It’s all a mistake.  You thought you saw us.  I haven’t kissed ”

“You lie,” he came a pace toward her.  “I saw you.  I’m not a fool not any longer.”

Her gaze met his and fell.  There was something in his expression, something of the primitive that tore away all subterfuge.

But she was not without courage.

“And if I did kiss him what then?” she asked defiantly.  “I’ll kiss as I please.”

“Will you?” He caught at her wrist but she eluded him.

“Yes, I will.  What right have you to tell me what I shall do or not do?  I’ll choose my friends as I please and kiss them as I please, Chan or anyone!”

She had not gauged his temper.  Perhaps she hadn’t read the meaning in his eyes.  Perhaps she thought that she could elude him or that the fact that she was on her own land gave her a fancied sense of security.

“You’ll not,” he cried.

“I will.  What right have you to question me?  You can amuse yourself with Una.”

“Stop!” he thundered.

But she had found her spirit and her confidence in her ability to win him to gentleness by one means or another was returning to her.  She was bold now but prepared to melt if the need required it.

“I will not stop,” she cried.  “You and Una.  What right have you to criticize me for what you yourself ”

She stopped abruptly, for he caught her by the arm and held her.  Jerry said that even yet he was timid of her delicacy fearful of the things he had thought her to be.  But he still held her, though she struggled to get away from him.

“Let me go, Jerry.  You’re hurting me.  Please let me go.”

She felt the first touch of his imperviousness when he refused to release her and chose to change her tone.

“Please let me go, Jerry,” she pleaded softly.  “Do you think you are treating me kindly, after all all that is between us?  I don’t care for Chan I don’t, Jerry.  Let me go.”

In his eyes she read the new judgment.

“Then you’re worse than I supposed,” he muttered.

“Worse!  Oh, Jerry.  Don’t look so so coldly.  It hurts me terribly.  I must go.  I can’t stand your looking at me in that way.”

She tried to move away, I think she had every intention of taking to her heels if Jerry had only given her the chance.  But he wouldn’t.  He held her and kept her close beside him.  He was hurting her wrist cruelly.

“Let me go,” she cried, struggling anew.

Her resistance aroused him again.  The animal fury of battle had not died out of his eyes.  He did not know what he intended to do with her had no plan, no purpose, he said.  What plan or purpose could he have had unless murder?  And even in his madness I’m sure that that never occurred to him.  But his blood was hot and his anger and bitterness overwhelming.  His fear of her delicacy diminished with her struggles, for her resistance inflamed him.  He did not know, nor did she just then, that the animal instinct to conquer was what she had taught him, and that the turgid stream of his blood was finding new strength and unreason, a strange new impetus in every struggle.  She saw her danger and was powerless to prevent it.  She looked over her shoulder helplessly in the direction in which Chan Lloyd had vanished and saw no help from there.  Jerry’s great strength had never seemed so terrible as now.  He caught her by the shoulders and held her, shook her, I think, a little, as one would shake a child, while she still struggled in his grasp.  In a moment his grasp loosened a little, then tightened again, for the contact of his fingers with her warm skin was awaking the demon in him, the dormant devil she had put there.

“Oh, you’re hurting me so, Jerry so terribly.”

But he did not even hear her voice.  His eyes were speaking to hers, holding them with a deathly fascination.  If fear was her passion she was drinking it now to the full fear and the sense of the ruthless power and dominion in this madman of her own creation.  Her hands clasped his shoulders.

“Jerry!” she screamed.  “Don’t look at me like that.  Your eyes burn me.”

“Into your soul I will burn it blot it out.”

“Jerry, forgive me,” she sobbed.  “I love you.”

“You lie.”

“I love you.  Forgive me!”

“No.  You lie!”

Her arms went around his neck.  And he crushed her to him, all the length of them in contact.  She struggled faintly but her lips sought his in a despairing hope of pity.  She found the lips, but no pity.  The breath was almost gone from her body.  She struggled, fighting hard, breathing his name in little panting sobs.  She too was mad now, as much of an animal as Jerry, her blood coursing furiously.  Her terror of herself must have been greater even than her terror of him, for she was quivering shaken by the terrible gusts of his passion.

Suddenly she felt herself released, thrust from him.  His fingers bruised the tender flesh of her shoulders but his eyes bruised her more.

“Jerry!”

His hands had caught the two sides of the flimsy shirt-waist at the breast and torn it aside, off her shoulders, off her arms.

“Have pity, Jerry,” she whimpered.

“Pity, yes,” he laughed wildly.  “Kiss me.  You want to be kissed.  I’ll kill you with kissing.  Death like this such a death !”

She struggled more furiously, struck, kissed and struck again.  But
Jerry’s madness triumphed her own.

At this point Jerry hid his face in his hands, trembling violently.

“I was out of my head, Roger.  Tell me that I was, for the love of God.  I must have been.  It was horrible.  I did not know.  I can scarcely remember now.  Death would have been better for her, for me than that.  My God!  If only you had told me, something.  I could have gone away, I think before But to have knowledge come like that, engulfing, flooding, drowning with its terrible bitterness.  And Marcia ” He raised his head piteously, “I asked her to marry me, Roger at once.  But she only looked at me with strange eyes.

“‘Marriage!’ she said, ‘My God!’ It was almost as though I had uttered a sacrilege.

“I pleaded with her gently, but she shook me off.  A fearful change had come over her.  She drew away and looked at me with alien eyes.

“‘Marriage!’ she repeated. ‘You!’

“‘Marry me tomorrow, Marcia ’

“She thrust her naked arms in front of her, their tatters flying, the rags of her honor.

“‘Oh, God!  How I loathe you!’

“‘Marcia!’

“‘Go away from me.  Go!’

“She put her arm before her eyes as though to shut out the sight of me.

“‘For God’s sake, go,’ she repeated, with words that cut like knives.  ‘Leave me alone, alone.’

“‘I must see you tomorrow.’

“She turned on me furiously.

“‘No, no, no,’ she screamed, ’not tomorrow or ever.  It would kill me to see you.  Kill me.  Go away never comeback.  Do you hear?  Never!  Never!’

“She was in a harrowing condition now, mad where I was quite sane.  There was nothing left for me to do.  I turned as in a daze into the woods and wandered around as though only half-awake, stupidly trying to plan.  At last I went back to the spring.  Marcia had gone gone out of my life

“That’s all, Roger.  I wrote to her from New York, from Manitoba, from the ranch in Colorado, repeating my offer of marriage, but she has never answered me.  You know the rest ” a slow and rather bitter smile crossed his features.  “She goes about with Lloyd and others.  She is gay.  Her picture is in the papers and magazines at hunt-meets bazaars.  She has forgotten and I No, I can never forget.  She will dwell with me all the days I live.  I can’t forget or forgive myself.  Why, Roger, the Mission the place that I’m giving money to support to keep those women.  You understand I know now. She might be one of them and I I would have brought her there.”

I had been stricken dumb by the fearful revelation of Jerry’s sin.  I was silent, thinking of new words of comfort for him and for myself for I was not innocent but they would not come, and Jerry rose and walked the length of the room.  “I’ve got to get away from it all again somewhere.  I can’t stay here.  Everything brings it all back.  I’m going away.”

“Going, Jerry?  Where?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve made a kind of plan.  But I mustn’t tell.  I don’t want you to know or anyone.  But I’ve got to leave here.”  He smiled a little as he saw the anxious look in my eyes.  “Oh, don’t worry.  I’m going to be all right, I don’t drink, you know.”

I think he was really a little proud of that admission.

“Are you sure, Jerry,” I asked after awhile, “that you care nothing for Marcia?”

He took a turn up and down the room before he replied.  And then, quite calmly: 

“It’s curious, Roger.  She has gone out of my life.  Gone like like a burned candle.  I do not love her, nor ever could again, and yet I would marry her tomorrow if she would have me.  I wrote her again yesterday, and I’m going to try to see her in New York.  But I’ll fail.  My face would always be a reproach to her.  I know.  She is like that bitter.  I don’t know that I can blame her.”

It was long past midnight.  Jerry went to bed.  But I sat oblivious of the passing hours, wide awake, somber, my gaze fixed upon the square of the window which turned from moonlight to dark and then at last shimmered with the dusk of the dawn.