Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (222 page)

January
17.

For
three
nights
I
have
had
no
experiences—my
day
of
rest
has bome
fruit.
Only
a
quarter
of
my
task
is
left,
but
I
must
make
a
forced march,
for
the
lawyers
are
clamouring
for
their
material.
I
will
give them
enough
and
to
spare.
I
have
him
fast
on
a
hundred
counts. When
they
realise
what
a
slippery,
cunning
rascal
he
is,
I
should gain
some
credit
from
the
case.
False
trading
accounts,
false
balance-sheets,
dividends
drawn
from
capital,
losses
written
down
as
profits, suppression
of
working
expenses,
manipulation
of
petty
cash—it
is a
fine
record!

January
18.

Headaches,
nervous
twitches,
mistiness,
fullness
of
the
temples— all
the
premonitions
of
trouble,
and
the
trouble
came
sure
enough. And
yet
my
real
sorrow
is
not
so
much
that
the
vision
should
come as
that
it
should
cease
before
all
is
revealed.

But
I
saw
more
to-night.
The
crouching
man
was
as
visible
as the
lady
whose
gown
he
clutched.
He
is
a
little
swarthy
fellow,
with a
black
pointed
beard.
He
has
a
loose
gown
of
damask
trimmed with
fur.
The
prevailing
tints
of
his
dress
are
red.
What
a
fright
the fellow
is
in,
to
be
sure!
He
cowers
and
shivers
and
glares
back
over his
shoulder.
There
is
a
small
knife
in
his
other
hand,
but
he
is
far too
tremulous
and
cowed
to
use
it.
Dimly
now
I
begin
to
see
the figures
in
the
background.
Fierce
faces,
bearded
and
dark,
shape
themselves
out
of
the
mist.
There
is
one
terrible
creature,
a
skeleton
of a
man,
with
hollow
cheeks
and
eyes
sunk
in
his
head.
He
also
has a
knife
in
his
hand.
On
the
right
of
the
woman
stands
a
tall
man, very
young,
with
flaxen
hair,
his
face
sullen
and
dour.
The
beautiful woman
looks
up
at
him
in
appeal.
So
does
the
man
on
the
ground. This
youth
seems
to
be
the
arbiter
of
their
fate.
The
crouching
man draws
closer
and
hides
himself
in
the
woman's
skirts.
The
tall
youth bends
and
tries
to
drag
her
away
from
him.
So
much
I
saw
last
night before
the
mirror
cleared.
Shall
I
never
know
what
it
leads
to
and whence
it
comes?
It
is
not
a
mere
imagination,
of
that
I
am
very
sure.

Somewhere,
some
time,
this
scene
has
been
acted,
and
this
old mirror
has
reflected
it.
But
when—where?

January
20.

My
work
draws
to
a
close,
and
it
is
time.
I
feel
a
tenseness
within my
brain,
a
sense
of
intolerable
strain,
which
warns
me
that
something must
give.
I
have
worked
myself
to
the
limit.
But
to-night
should
be the
last
night.
With
a
supreme
effort
i
should
finish
the
final
ledger and
complete
the
case
before
I
rise
from
my
chair.
I
will
do
it.
I
will.