The Yellow Sign

by Robert W. Chambers

　　    What we shall do,

　　  When this blue starlight dies

　　    And all is through."

　　IThere are so many things which are impossible to explain! Why shouldcertain chords in music make me think of the brown and golden tints ofautumn foliage? Why should the Mass of Sainte Cécile bend my thoughtswandering among caverns whose walls blaze with ragged masses of virginsilver? What was it in the roar and turmoil of Broadway at six o'clockthat flashed before my eyes the picture of a still Breton forest wheresunlight filtered through spring foliage and Sylvia bent, half curiously,half tenderly, over a small green lizard, murmuring: "To think that thisalso is a little ward of God!"

　　When I first saw the watchman his back was toward me. I looked at himindifferently until he went into the church. I paid no more attention tohim than I had to any other man who lounged through Washington Squarethat morning, and when I shut my window and turned back into my studio Ihad forgotten him. Late in the afternoon, the day being warm, I raisedthe window again and leaned out to get a sniff of air. A man was standingin the courtyard of the church, and I noticed him again with as littleinterest as I had that morning. I looked across the square to where thefountain was playing and then, with my mind filled with vague impressionsof trees, asphalt drives, and the moving groups of nursemaids andholiday-makers, I started to walk back to my easel. As I turned, mylistless glance included the man below in the churchyard. His face wastoward me now, and with a perfectly involuntary movement I bent to seeit. At the same moment he raised his head and looked at me. Instantly Ithought of a coffin-worm. Whatever it was about the man that repelled meI did not know, but the impression of a plump white grave-worm was sointense and nauseating that I must have shown it in my expression, for heturned his puffy face away with a movement which made me think of adisturbed grub in a chestnut.

　　I went back to my easel and motioned the model to resume her pose. Afterworking a while I was satisfied that I was spoiling what I had done asrapidly as possible, and I took up a palette knife and scraped the colourout again. The flesh tones were sallow and unhealthy, and I did notunderstand how I could have painted such sickly colour into a study whichbefore that had glowed with healthy tones.

　　I looked at Tessie. She had not changed, and the clear flush of healthdyed her neck and cheeks as I frowned.

　　"Is it something I've done?" she said.

　　"No,--I've made a mess of this arm, and for the life of me I can't seehow I came to paint such mud as that into the canvas," I replied.

　　"Don't I pose well?" she insisted.

　　"Of course, perfectly."

　　"Then it's not my fault?"

　　"No. It's my own."

　　"I am very sorry," she said.

　　I told her she could rest while I applied rag and turpentine to theplague spot on my canvas, and she went off to smoke a cigarette and lookover the illustrations in the Courrier Français.

　　I did not know whether it was something in the turpentine or a defect inthe canvas, but the more I scrubbed the more that gangrene seemed tospread. I worked like a beaver to get it out, and yet the diseaseappeared to creep from limb to limb of the study before me. Alarmed, Istrove to arrest it, but now the colour on the breast changed and thewhole figure seemed to absorb the infection as a sponge soaks up water.Vigorously I plied palette-knife, turpentine, and scraper, thinking allthe time what a séance I should hold with Duval who had sold methe canvas; but soon I noticed that it was not the canvas which wasdefective nor yet the colours of Edward. "It must be the turpentine," Ithought angrily, "or else my eyes have become so blurred and confused bythe afternoon light that I can't see straight." I called Tessie, themodel. She came and leaned over my chair blowing rings of smoke into theair.

　　"What have you been doing to it?" she exclaimed

　　"Nothing," I growled, "it must be this turpentine!"

　　"What a horrible colour it is now," she continued. "Do you think my fleshresembles green cheese?"

　　"No, I don't," I said angrily; "did you ever know me to paint like thatbefore?"

　　"No, indeed!"

　　"Well, then!"

　　"It must be the turpentine, or something," she admitted.

　　She slipped on a Japanese robe and walked to the window. I scraped andrubbed until I was tired, and finally picked up my brushes and hurledthem through the canvas with a forcible expression, the tone alone ofwhich reached Tessie's ears.

　　Nevertheless she promptly began: "That's it! Swear and act silly and ruinyour brushes! You have been three weeks on that study, and now look!What's the good of ripping the canvas? What creatures artists are!"

　　I felt about as much ashamed as I usually did after such an outbreak, andI turned the ruined canvas to the wall. Tessie helped me clean mybrushes, and then danced away to dress. From the screen she regaled mewith bits of advice concerning whole or partial loss of temper, until,thinking, perhaps, I had been tormented sufficiently, she came out toimplore me to button her waist where she could not reach it on theshoulder.

　　"Everything went wrong from the time you came back from the window andtalked about that horrid-looking man you saw in the churchyard," sheannounced.

　　"Yes, he probably bewitched the picture," I said, yawning. I looked at mywatch.

　　"It's after six, I know," said Tessie, adjusting her hat before themirror.

　　"Yes," I replied, "I didn't mean to keep you so long." I leaned out ofthe window but recoiled with disgust, for the young man with the pastyface stood below in the churchyard. Tessie saw my gesture of disapprovaland leaned from the window.

　　"Is that the man you don't like?" she whispered.

　　I nodded.

　　"I can't see his face, but he does look fat and soft. Someway or other,"she continued, turning to look at me, "he reminds me of a dream,--anawful dream I once had. Or," she mused, looking down at her shapelyshoes, "was it a dream after all?"

　　"How should I know?" I smiled.

　　Tessie smiled in reply.

　　"You were in it," she said, "so perhaps you might know something aboutit."

　　"Tessie! Tessie!" I protested, "don't you dare flatter by saying that youdream about me!"

　　"But I did," she insisted; "shall I tell you about it?"

　　"Go ahead," I replied, lighting a cigarette.

　　Tessie leaned back on the open window-sill and began very seriously.

　　"One night last winter I was lying in bed thinking about nothing at allin particular. I had been posing for you and I was tired out, yet itseemed impossible for me to sleep. I heard the bells in the city ringten, eleven, and midnight. I must have fallen asleep about midnightbecause I don't remember hearing the bells after that. It seemed to methat I had scarcely closed my eyes when I dreamed that something impelledme to go to the window. I rose, and raising the sash leaned out.Twenty-fifth Street was deserted as far as I could see. I began to beafraid; everything outside seemed so--so black and uncomfortable. Thenthe sound of wheels in the distance came to my ears, and it seemed to meas though that was what I must wait for. Very slowly the wheelsapproached, and, finally, I could make out a vehicle moving along thestreet. It came nearer and nearer, and when it passed beneath my window Isaw it was a hearse. Then, as I trembled with fear, the driver turned andlooked straight at me. When I awoke I was standing by the open windowshivering with cold, but the black-plumed hearse and the driver weregone. I dreamed this dream again in March last, and again awoke besidethe open window. Last night the dream came again. You remember how it wasraining; when I awoke, standing at the open window, my night-dress wassoaked."

　　"But where did I come into the dream?" I asked.

　　"You--you were in the coffin; but you were not dead."

　　"In the coffin?"

　　"Yes."

　　"How did you know? Could you see me?"

　　"No; I only knew you were there."

　　"Had you been eating Welsh rarebits, or lobster salad?" I began,laughing, but the girl interrupted me with a frightened cry.

　　"Hello! What's up?" I said, as she shrank into the embrasure by thewindow.

　　"The--the man below in the churchyard;--he drove the hearse."

　　"Nonsense," I said, but Tessie's eyes were wide with terror. I went tothe window and looked out. The man was gone. "Come, Tessie," I urged,"don't be foolish. You have posed too long; you are nervous."

　　"Do you think I could forget that face?" she murmured. "Three times I sawthe hearse pass below my window, and every time the driver turned andlooked up at me. Oh, his face was so white and--and soft? It lookeddead--it looked as if it had been dead a long time."

　　I induced the girl to sit down and swallow a glass of Marsala. Then I satdown beside her, and tried to give her some advice.

　　"Look here, Tessie," I said, "you go to the country for a week or two,and you'll have no more dreams about hearses. You pose all day, and whennight comes your nerves are upset. You can't keep this up. Then again,instead of going to bed when your day's work is done, you run off topicnics at Sulzer's Park, or go to the Eldorado or Coney Island, and whenyou come down here next morning you are fagged out. There was no realhearse. There was a soft-shell crab dream."

　　She smiled faintly.

　　"What about the man in the churchyard?"

　　"Oh, he's only an ordinary unhealthy, everyday creature."

　　"As true as my name is Tessie Reardon, I swear to you, Mr. Scott, thatthe face of the man below in the churchyard is the face of the man whodrove the hearse!"

　　"What of it?" I said. "It's an honest trade."

　　"Then you think I did see the hearse?"

　　"Oh," I said diplomatically, "if you really did, it might not be unlikelythat the man below drove it. There is nothing in that."

　　Tessie rose, unrolled her scented handkerchief, and taking a bit of gumfrom a knot in the hem, placed it in her mouth. Then drawing on hergloves she offered me her hand, with a frank, "Good-night, Mr. Scott,"and walked out.

　　IIThe next morning, Thomas, the bell-boy, brought me the Herald anda bit of news. The church next door had been sold. I thanked Heaven forit, not that being a Catholic I had any repugnance for the congregationnext door, but because my nerves were shattered by a blatant exhorter,whose every word echoed through the aisle of the church as if it had beenmy own rooms, and who insisted on his r's with a nasal persistence whichrevolted my every instinct. Then, too, there was a fiend in human shape,an organist, who reeled off some of the grand old hymns with aninterpretation of his own, and I longed for the blood of a creature whocould play the doxology with an amendment of minor chords which one hearsonly in a quartet of very young undergraduates. I believe the ministerwas a good man, but when he bellowed: "And the Lorrrrd said unto Moses,the Lorrrd is a man of war; the Lorrrd is his name. My wrath shall waxhot and I will kill you with the sworrrrd!" I wondered how many centuriesof purgatory it would take to atone for such a sin.

　　"Who bought the property?" I asked Thomas.

　　"Nobody that I knows, sir. They do say the gent wot owns this 'ere'Amilton flats was lookin' at it. 'E might be a bildin' more studios."

　　I walked to the window. The young man with the unhealthy face stood bythe churchyard gate, and at the mere sight of him the same overwhelmingrepugnance took possession of me.

　　"By the way, Thomas," I said, "who is that fellow down there?"

　　Thomas sniffed. "That there worm, sir? 'Es night-watchman of the church,sir. 'E maikes me tired a-sittin' out all night on them steps and lookin'at you insultin' like. I'd a punched 'is 'ed, sir--beg pardon, sir--"

　　"Go on, Thomas."

　　"One night a comin' 'ome with Arry, the other English boy, I sees 'im asittin' there on them steps. We 'ad Molly and Jen with us, sir, the twogirls on the tray service, an' 'e looks so insultin' at us that I up andsez: 'Wat you looking hat, you fat slug?'--beg pardon, sir, but that's'ow I sez, sir. Then 'e don't say nothin' and I sez: 'Come out and I'llpunch that puddin' 'ed.' Then I hopens the gate an' goes in, but 'e don'tsay nothin', only looks insultin' like. Then I 'its 'im one, but, ugh!'is 'ed was that cold and mushy it ud sicken you to touch 'im."

　　"What did he do then?" I asked curiously.

　　"'Im? Nawthin'."

　　"And you, Thomas?"

　　The young fellow flushed with embarrassment and smiled uneasily.

　　"Mr. Scott, sir, I ain't no coward, an' I can't make it out at all why Irun. I was in the 5th Lawncers, sir, bugler at Tel-el-Kebir, an' was shotby the wells."

　　"You don't mean to say you ran away?"

　　"Yes, sir; I run."

　　"Why?"

　　"That's just what I want to know, sir. I grabbed Molly an' run, an' therest was as frightened as I."

　　"But what were they frightened at?"

　　Thomas refused to answer for a while, but now my curiosity was arousedabout the repulsive young man below and I pressed him. Three years'sojourn in America had not only modified Thomas' cockney dialect but hadgiven him the American's fear of ridicule.

　　"You won't believe me, Mr. Scott, sir?"

　　"Yes, I will."

　　"You will lawf at me, sir?"

　　"Nonsense!"

　　He hesitated. "Well, sir, it's Gawd's truth that when I 'it 'im 'egrabbed me wrists, sir, and when I twisted 'is soft, mushy fist one of'is fingers come off in me 'and."

　　The utter loathing and horror of Thomas' face must have been reflected inmy own, for he added:

　　"It's orful, an' now when I see 'im I just go away. 'E maikes me hill."

　　When Thomas had gone I went to the window. The man stood beside thechurch-railing with both hands on the gate, but I hastily retreated to myeasel again, sickened and horrified, for I saw that the middle finger ofhis right hand was missing.

　　At nine o'clock Tessie appeared and vanished behind the screen with amerry "Good morning, Mr. Scott." When she had reappeared and taken herpose upon the model-stand I started a new canvas, much to her delight.She remained silent as long as I was on the drawing, but as soon as thescrape of the charcoal ceased and I took up my fixative she began tochatter.

　　"Oh, I had such a lovely time last night. We went to Tony Pastor's."

　　"Who are 'we'?" I demanded.

　　"Oh, Maggie, you know, Mr. Whyte's model, and Pinkie McCormick--we callher Pinkie because she's got that beautiful red hair you artists like somuch--and Lizzie Burke."

　　I sent a shower of spray from the fixative over the canvas, and said:"Well, go on."

　　"We saw Kelly and Baby Barnes the skirt-dancer and--and all the rest. Imade a mash."

　　"Then you have gone back on me, Tessie?"

　　She laughed and shook her head.

　　"He's Lizzie Burke's brother, Ed. He's a perfect gen'l'man."

　　I felt constrained to give her some parental advice concerning mashing,which she took with a bright smile.

　　"Oh, I can take care of a strange mash," she said, examining her chewinggum, "but Ed is different. Lizzie is my best friend."

　　Then she related how Ed had come back from the stocking mill in Lowell,Massachusetts, to find her and Lizzie grown up, and what an accomplishedyoung man he was, and how he thought nothing of squandering half-a-dollarfor ice-cream and oysters to celebrate his entry as clerk into thewoollen department of Macy's. Before she finished I began to paint, andshe resumed the pose, smiling and chattering like a sparrow. By noon Ihad the study fairly well rubbed in and Tessie came to look at it.

　　"That's better," she said.

　　I thought so too, and ate my lunch with a satisfied feeling that all wasgoing well. Tessie spread her lunch on a drawing table opposite me and wedrank our claret from the same bottle and lighted our cigarettes from thesame match. I was very much attached to Tessie. I had watched her shootup into a slender but exquisitely formed woman from a frail, awkwardchild. She had posed for me during the last three years, and among all mymodels she was my favourite. It would have troubled me very much indeedhad she become "tough" or "fly," as the phrase goes, but I never noticedany deterioration of her manner, and felt at heart that she was allright. She and I never discussed morals at all, and I had no intention ofdoing so, partly because I had none myself, and partly because I knew shewould do what she liked in spite of me. Still I did hope she would steerclear of complications, because I wished her well, and then also I had aselfish desire to retain the best model I had. I knew that mashing, asshe termed it, had no significance with girls like Tessie, and that suchthings in America did not resemble in the least the same things in Paris.Yet, having lived with my eyes open, I also knew that somebody would takeTessie away some day, in one manner or another, and though I professed tomyself that marriage was nonsense, I sincerely hoped that, in this case,there would be a priest at the end of the vista. I am a Catholic. When Ilisten to high mass, when I sign myself, I feel that everything,including myself, is more cheerful, and when I confess, it does me good.A man who lives as much alone as I do, must confess to somebody. Then,again, Sylvia was Catholic, and it was reason enough for me. But I wasspeaking of Tessie, which is very different. Tessie also was Catholic andmuch more devout than I, so, taking it all in all, I had little fear formy pretty model until she should fall in love. But then I knewthat fate alone would decide her future for her, and I prayed inwardlythat fate would keep her away from men like me and throw into her pathnothing but Ed Burkes and Jimmy McCormicks, bless her sweet face!

　　Tessie sat blowing rings of smoke up to the ceiling and tinkling the icein her tumbler.

　　"Do you know that I also had a dream last night?" I observed.

　　"Not about that man," she laughed.

　　"Exactly. A dream similar to yours, only much worse."

　　It was foolish and thoughtless of me to say this, but you know how littletact the average painter has. "I must have fallen asleep about teno'clock," I continued, "and after a while I dreamt that I awoke. Soplainly did I hear the midnight bells, the wind in the tree-branches, andthe whistle of steamers from the bay, that even now I can scarcelybelieve I was not awake. I seemed to be lying in a box which had a glasscover. Dimly I saw the street lamps as I passed, for I must tell you,Tessie, the box in which I reclined appeared to lie in a cushioned wagonwhich jolted me over a stony pavement. After a while I became impatientand tried to move, but the box was too narrow. My hands were crossed onmy breast, so I could not raise them to help myself. I listened and thentried to call. My voice was gone. I could hear the trample of the horsesattached to the wagon, and even the breathing of the driver. Then anothersound broke upon my ears like the raising of a window sash. I managed toturn my head a little, and found I could look, not only through the glasscover of my box, but also through the glass panes in the side of thecovered vehicle. I saw houses, empty and silent, with neither light norlife about any of them excepting one. In that house a window was open onthe first floor, and a figure all in white stood looking down into thestreet. It was you."

　　Tessie had turned her face away from me and leaned on the table with herelbow.

　　"I could see your face," I resumed, "and it seemed to me to be verysorrowful. Then we passed on and turned into a narrow black lane.Presently the horses stopped. I waited and waited, closing my eyes withear and impatience, but all was silent as the grave. After what seemed tome hours, I began to feel uncomfortable. A sense that somebody was closeto me made me unclose my eyes. Then I saw the white face of thehearse-driver looking at me through the coffin-lid----"

　　A sob from Tessie interrupted me. She was trembling like a leaf. I saw Ihad made an ass of myself and attempted to repair the damage.

　　"Why, Tess," I said, "I only told you this to show you what influenceyour story might have on another person's dreams. You don't suppose Ireally lay in a coffin, do you? What are you trembling for? Don't you seethat your dream and my unreasonable dislike for that inoffensive watchmanof the church simply set my brain working as soon as I fell asleep?"

　　She laid her head between her arms, and sobbed as if her heart wouldbreak. What a precious triple donkey I had made of myself! But I wasabout to break my record. I went over and put my arm about her.

　　"Tessie dear, forgive me," I said; "I had no business to frighten youwith such nonsense. You are too sensible a girl, too good a Catholic tobelieve in dreams."

　　Her hand tightened on mine and her head fell back upon my shoulder, butshe still trembled and I petted her and comforted her.

　　"Come, Tess, open your eyes and smile."

　　Her eyes opened with a slow languid movement and met mine, but theirexpression was so queer that I hastened to reassure her again.

　　"It's all humbug, Tessie; you surely are not afraid that any harm willcome to you because of that."

　　"No," she said, but her scarlet lips quivered.

　　"Then, what's the matter? Are you afraid?"

　　"Yes. Not for myself."

　　"For me, then?" I demanded gaily.

　　"For you," she murmured in a voice almost inaudible. "I--I care for you."

　　At first I started to laugh, but when I understood her, a shock passedthrough me, and I sat like one turned to stone. This was the crowning bitof idiocy I had committed. During the moment which elapsed between herreply and my answer I thought of a thousand responses to that innocentconfession. I could pass it by with a laugh, I could misunderstand herand assure her as to my health, I could simply point out that it wasimpossible she could love me. But my reply was quicker than my thoughts,and I might think and think now when it was too late, for I had kissedher on the mouth.

　　That evening I took my usual walk in Washington Park, pondering over theoccurrences of the day. I was thoroughly committed. There was no back outnow, and I stared the future straight in the face. I was not good, noteven scrupulous, but I had no idea of deceiving either myself or Tessie.The one passion of my life lay buried in the sunlit forests of Brittany.Was it buried for ever? Hope cried "No!" For three years I had beenlistening to the voice of Hope, and for three years I had waited for afootstep on my threshold. Had Sylvia forgotten? "No!" cried Hope.

　　I said that I was no good. That is true, but still I was not exactly acomic opera villain. I had led an easy-going reckless life, taking whatinvited me of pleasure, deploring and sometimes bitterly regrettingconsequences. In one thing alone, except my painting, was I serious, andthat was something which lay hidden if not lost in the Breton forests.

　　It was too late for me to regret what had occurred during the day.Whatever it had been, pity, a sudden tenderness for sorrow, or the morebrutal instinct of gratified vanity, it was all the same now, and unlessI wished to bruise an innocent heart, my path lay marked before me. Thefire and strength, the depth of passion of a love which I had never evensuspected, with all my imagined experience in the world, left me noalternative but to respond or send her away. Whether because I am socowardly about giving pain to others, or whether it was that I havelittle of the gloomy Puritan in me, I do not know, but I shrank fromdisclaiming responsibility for that thoughtless kiss, and in fact had notime to do so before the gates of her heart opened and the flood pouredforth. Others who habitually do their duty and find a sullen satisfactionin making themselves and everybody else unhappy, might have withstood it.I did not. I dared not. After the storm had abated I did tell her thatshe might better have loved Ed Burke and worn a plain gold ring, but shewould not hear of it, and I thought perhaps as long as she had decided tolove somebody she could not marry, it had better be me. I, at least,could treat her with an intelligent affection, and whenever she becametired of her infatuation she could go none the worse for it. For I wasdecided on that point although I knew how hard it would be. I rememberedthe usual termination of Platonic liaisons, and thought how disgusted Ihad been whenever I heard of one. I knew I was undertaking a great dealfor so unscrupulous a man as I was, and I dreamed the future, but neverfor one moment did I doubt that she was safe with me. Had it been anybodybut Tessie I should not have bothered my head about scruples. For it didnot occur to me to sacrifice Tessie as I would have sacrificed a woman ofthe world. I looked the future squarely in the face and saw the severalprobable endings to the affair. She would either tire of the whole thing,or become so unhappy that I should have either to marry her or go away.If I married her we would be unhappy. I with a wife unsuited to me, andshe with a husband unsuitable for any woman. For my past life couldscarcely entitle me to marry. If I went away she might either fall ill,recover, and marry some Eddie Burke, or she might recklessly ordeliberately go and do something foolish. On the other hand, if she tiredof me, then her whole life would be before her with beautiful vistas ofEddie Burkes and marriage rings and twins and Harlem flats and Heavenknows what. As I strolled along through the trees by the Washington Arch,I decided that she should find a substantial friend in me, anyway, andthe future could take care of itself. Then I went into the house and puton my evening dress, for the little faintly-perfumed note on my dressersaid, "Have a cab at the stage door at eleven," and the note was signed"Edith Carmichel, Metropolitan Theatre."

　　I took supper that night, or rather we took supper, Miss Carmichel and I,at Solari's, and the dawn was just beginning to gild the cross on theMemorial Church as I entered Washington Square after leaving Edith at theBrunswick. There was not a soul in the park as I passed along the treesand took the walk which leads from the Garibaldi statue to the HamiltonApartment House, but as I passed the churchyard I saw a figure sitting onthe stone steps. In spite of myself a chill crept over me at the sight ofthe white puffy face, and I hastened to pass. Then he said somethingwhich might have been addressed to me or might merely have been a mutterto himself, but a sudden furious anger flamed up within me that such acreature should address me. For an instant I felt like wheeling about andsmashing my stick over his head, but I walked on, and entering theHamilton went to my apartment. For some time I tossed about the bedtrying to get the sound of his voice out of my ears, but could not. Itfilled my head, that muttering sound, like thick oily smoke from afat-rendering vat or an odour of noisome decay. And as I lay and tossedabout, the voice in my ears seemed more distinct, and I began tounderstand the words he had muttered. They came to me slowly as if I hadforgotten them, and at last I could make some sense out of the sounds. Itwas this:

　　"Have you found the Yellow Sign?"

　　"Have you found the Yellow Sign?"

　　"Have you found the Yellow Sign?"

　　I was furious. What did he mean by that? Then with a curse upon him andhis I rolled over and went to sleep, but when I awoke later I looked paleand haggard, for I had dreamed the dream of the night before, and ittroubled me more than I cared to think.

　　I dressed and went down into my studio. Tessie sat by the window, but asI came in she rose and put both arms around my neck for an innocent kiss.She looked so sweet and dainty that I kissed her again and then sat downbefore the easel.

　　"Hello! Where's the study I began yesterday?" I asked.

　　Tessie looked conscious, but did not answer. I began to hunt among thepiles of canvases, saying, "Hurry up, Tess, and get ready; we must takeadvantage of the morning light."

　　When at last I gave up the search among the other canvases and turned tolook around the room for the missing study I noticed Tessie standing bythe screen with her clothes still on.

　　"What's the matter," I asked, "don't you feel well?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Then hurry."

　　"Do you want me to pose as--as I have always posed?"

　　Then I understood. Here was a new complication. I had lost, of course,the best nude model I had ever seen. I looked at Tessie. Her face wasscarlet. Alas! Alas! We had eaten of the tree of knowledge, and Eden andnative innocence were dreams of the past--I mean for her.

　　I suppose she noticed the disappointment on my face, for she said: "Iwill pose if you wish. The study is behind the screen here where I putit."

　　"No," I said, "we will begin something new;" and I went into my wardrobeand picked out a Moorish costume which fairly blazed with tinsel. It wasa genuine costume, and Tessie retired to the screen with it enchanted.When she came forth again I was astonished. Her long black hair was boundabove her forehead with a circlet of turquoises, and the ends, curledabout her glittering girdle. Her feet were encased in the embroideredpointed slippers and the skirt of her costume, curiously wrought witharabesques in silver, fell to her ankles. The deep metallic blue vestembroidered with silver and the short Mauresque jacket spangled and sewnwith turquoises became her wonderfully. She came up to me and held up herface smiling. I slipped my hand into my pocket, and drawing out a goldchain with a cross attached, dropped it over her head.

　　"It's yours, Tessie."

　　"Mine?" she faltered.

　　"Yours. Now go and pose," Then with a radiant smile she ran behind thescreen and presently reappeared with a little box on which was written myname.

　　"I had intended to give it to you when I went home to-night," she said,"but I can't wait now."

　　I opened the box. On the pink cotton inside lay a clasp of black onyx, onwhich was inlaid a curious symbol or letter in gold. It was neitherArabic nor Chinese, nor, as I found afterwards, did it belong to anyhuman script.

　　"It's all I had to give you for a keepsake," she said timidly.

　　I was annoyed, but I told her how much I should prize it, and promised towear it always. She fastened it on my coat beneath the lapel.

　　"How foolish, Tess, to go and buy me such a beautiful thing as this," Isaid.

　　"I did not buy it," she laughed.

　　"Where did you get it?"

　　Then she told me how she had found it one day while coming from theAquarium in the Battery, how she had advertised it and watched thepapers, but at last gave up all hopes of finding the owner.

　　"That was last winter," she said, "the very day I had the first horriddream about the hearse."

　　I remembered my dream of the previous night but said nothing, andpresently my charcoal was flying over a new canvas, and Tessie stoodmotionless on the model-stand.

　　IIIThe day following was a disastrous one for me. While moving a framedcanvas from one easel to another my foot slipped on the polished floor,and I fell heavily on both wrists. They were so badly sprained that itwas useless to attempt to hold a brush, and I was obliged to wander aboutthe studio, glaring at unfinished drawings and sketches, until despairseized me and I sat down to smoke and twiddle my thumbs with rage. Therain blew against the windows and rattled on the roof of the church,driving me into a nervous fit with its interminable patter. Tessie satsewing by the window, and every now and then raised her head and lookedat me with such innocent compassion that I began to feel ashamed of myirritation and looked about for something to occupy me. I had read allthe papers and all the books in the library, but for the sake ofsomething to do I went to the bookcases and shoved them open with myelbow. I knew every volume by its colour and examined them all, passingslowly around the library and whistling to keep up my spirits. I wasturning to go into the dining-room when my eye fell upon a book bound inserpent skin, standing in a corner of the top shelf of the last bookcase.I did not remember it, and from the floor could not decipher the palelettering on the back, so I went to the smoking-room and called Tessie.She came in from the studio and climbed up to reach the book.

　　"What is it?" I asked.

　　"The King in Yellow."

　　I was dumfounded. Who had placed it there? How came it in my rooms? I hadlong ago decided that I should never open that book, and nothing on earthcould have persuaded me to buy it. Fearful lest curiosity might tempt meto open it, I had never even looked at it in book-stores. If I ever hadhad any curiosity to read it, the awful tragedy of young Castaigne, whomI knew, prevented me from exploring its wicked pages. I had alwaysrefused to listen to any description of it, and indeed, nobody everventured to discuss the second part aloud, so I had absolutely noknowledge of what those leaves might reveal. I stared at the poisonousmottled binding as I would at a snake.

　　"Don't touch it, Tessie," I said; "come down."

　　Of course my admonition was enough to arouse her curiosity, and before Icould prevent it she took the book and, laughing, danced off into thestudio with it. I called to her, but she slipped away with a tormentingsmile at my helpless hands, and I followed her with some impatience.

　　"Tessie!" I cried, entering the library, "listen, I am serious. Put thatbook away. I do not wish you to open it!" The library was empty. I wentinto both drawing-rooms, then into the bedrooms, laundry, kitchen, andfinally returned to the library and began a systematic search. She hadhidden herself so well that it was half-an-hour later when I discoveredher crouching white and silent by the latticed window in the store-roomabove. At the first glance I saw she had been punished for herfoolishness. The King in Yellow lay at her feet, but the book wasopen at the second part. I looked at Tessie and saw it was too late. Shehad opened The King in Yellow. Then I took her by the hand and ledher into the studio. She seemed dazed, and when I told her to lie down onthe sofa she obeyed me without a word. After a while she closed her eyesand her breathing became regular and deep, but I could not determinewhether or not she slept. For a long while I sat silently beside her, butshe neither stirred nor spoke, and at last I rose, and, entering theunused store-room, took the book in my least injured hand. It seemedheavy as lead, but I carried it into the studio again, and sitting downon the rug beside the sofa, opened it and read it through from beginningto end.

　　When, faint with excess of my emotions, I dropped the volume and leanedwearily back against the sofa, Tessie opened her eyes and looked atme....

　　We had been speaking for some time in a dull monotonous strain before Irealized that we were discussing The King in Yellow. Oh the sin ofwriting such words,--words which are clear as crystal, limpid and musicalas bubbling springs, words which sparkle and glow like the poisoneddiamonds of the Medicis! Oh the wickedness, the hopeless damnation of asoul who could fascinate and paralyze human creatures with suchwords,--words understood by the ignorant and wise alike, words which aremore precious than jewels, more soothing than music, more awful thandeath!

　　We talked on, unmindful of the gathering shadows, and she was begging meto throw away the clasp of black onyx quaintly inlaid with what we nowknew to be the Yellow Sign. I never shall know why I refused, though evenat this hour, here in my bedroom as I write this confession, I should beglad to know what it was that prevented me from tearing the YellowSign from my breast and casting it into the fire. I am sure I wished todo so, and yet Tessie pleaded with me in vain. Night fell and the hoursdragged on, but still we murmured to each other of the King and thePallid Mask, and midnight sounded from the misty spires in thefog-wrapped city. We spoke of Hastur and of Cassilda, while outside thefog rolled against the blank window-panes as the cloud waves roll andbreak on the shores of Hali.

　　The house was very silent now, and not a sound came up from the mistystreets. Tessie lay among the cushions, her face a grey blot in thegloom, but her hands were clasped in mine, and I knew that she knew andread my thoughts as I read hers, for we had understood the mystery of theHyades and the Phantom of Truth was laid. Then as we answered each other,swiftly, silently, thought on thought, the shadows stirred in the gloomabout us, and far in the distant streets we heard a sound. Nearer andnearer it came, the dull crunching of wheels, nearer and yet nearer, andnow, outside before the door it ceased, and I dragged myself to thewindow and saw a black-plumed hearse. The gate below opened and shut, andI crept shaking to my door and bolted it, but I knew no bolts, no locks,could keep that creature out who was coming for the Yellow Sign. And nowI heard him moving very softly along the hall. Now he was at the door,and the bolts rotted at his touch. Now he had entered. With eyes startingfrom my head I peered into the darkness, but when he came into the room Idid not see him. It was only when I felt him envelope me in his cold softgrasp that I cried out and struggled with deadly fury, but my hands wereuseless and he tore the onyx clasp from my coat and struck me full in theface. Then, as I fell, I heard Tessie's soft cry and her spirit fled: andeven while falling I longed to follow her, for I knew that the King inYellow had opened his tattered mantle and there was only God to cry tonow.

　　I could tell more, but I cannot see what help it will be to the world. Asfor me, I am past human help or hope. As I lie here, writing, carelesseven whether or not I die before I finish, I can see the doctor gatheringup his powders and phials with a vague gesture to the good priest besideme, which I understand.

　　They will be very curious to know the tragedy--they of the outside worldwho write books and print millions of newspapers, but I shall write nomore, and the father confessor will seal my last words with the seal ofsanctity when his holy office is done. They of the outside world may sendtheir creatures into wrecked homes and death-smitten firesides, and theirnewspapers will batten on blood and tears, but with me their spies musthalt before the confessional. They know that Tessie is dead and that I amdying. They know how the people in the house, aroused by an infernalscream, rushed into my room and found one living and two dead, but theydo not know what I shall tell them now; they do not know that the doctorsaid as he pointed to a horrible decomposed heap on the floor--the lividcorpse of the watchman from the church: "I have no theory, no explanation.That man must have been dead for months!"

　　I think I am dying. I wish the priest would—