Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (219 page)

Then,
as
I
looked,
the
mist,
or
smoke,
or
cloud,
or
whatever
one may
call
it,
seemed
to
coalesce
and
solidify
at
two
points
quite
close together,
and
I
was
aware,
with
a
thjill
of
interest
rather
than
of
fear, that
these
were
two
eyes
looking
out
into
the
room.
A
vague
outline of
a
head
I
could
see—a
woman's
by
the
hair,
but
this
was
very shadowy.
Only
the
eyes
were
quite
distinct;
such
eyes—dark,
luminous, filled
with
some
passionate
emotion,
fury
or
horror,
I
could
not
say which.
Never
have
I
seen
eyes
which
were
so
full
of
intense,
vivid life.
They
were
not
fixed
upon
me,
but
stared
out
into
the
room.

Then
as
I
sat
erect,
passed
my
hand
over
my
brow,
and
made
a
strong conscious
effort
to
pull
myself
together,
the
dim
head
faded
into
the general
opacity,
the
mirror
slowly
cleared,
and
there
were
the
red curtains
once
again.

A
sceptic
would
say,
no
doubt,
that
I
had
dropped
asleep
over my
figures,
and
that
my
experience
was
a
dream.
As
a
matter
of
fact, I
was
never
more
vividly
awake
in
my
life.
I
was
able
to
argue
about it
even
as
I
looked
at
it,
and
to
tell
myself
that
it
was
a
subjective impression—a
chimera
of
the
nerves—begotten
by
worry
and
insomnia.
But
why
this
particular
shape?
And
who
is
the
woman,
and what
is
the
dreadful
emotion
which
I
read
in
those
wonderful brown
eyes?
They
come
between
me
and
my
work.
For
the
first
time I
have
done
less
than
the
daily
tally
which
I
had
marked
out.
Perhaps that
is
why
I
have
had
no
abnormal
sensations
to-night.
To-morrow I
must
wake
up,
come
what
may.

January
11.