the captives-第109节
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〃He was out；〃 said Maggie； 〃for a long time。〃
〃Quite so；〃 said Dr。 Abrams。 〃That's killed him； I shouldn't wonder。〃 He snuffled in his speech and he snuffled in his walk。
Before they had gone very far he put his hand on Maggie's arm； she hated his touch； but his last words had so deeply terrified her that nothing else affected her。 If Martin were killed by going out yesterday then she had killed him。 He had gone out to escape her。 But she drove that thought from her as she had driven so many others。
〃The pneumonia's bad enough；〃 said the little man； becoming more confidential as his grip tightened on her arm； 〃but it's heart's the trouble。 Might finish him any day。 Tells me his father was the same。 What a nice warm arm you've got； my dearit's a pleasant day； too。〃
They entered the house and Dr。 Abrams stayed chatting with Emily in the passage for a considerable time。 Any one of the opposite sex seemed to hare an irresistible attraction for him。
When they went upstairs the doctor was so held by his burning curiosity that it was difficult to lead him into Martin's bedroom。 Everything interested him； he bent down and felt the tablecloth with his dirty thumb； then the soil round the hyacinth； then the blue china。 Between every investigation he stared at Maggie as though he were now seeing her for the first time。 At last； however； he was bending over Martin； and his examination was clever and deft； he bad been； like his patient； used to better days。 Martin was very ill。
〃The boy's bad；〃 he said； turning sharply round upon Maggie。
From the speaking of that word； for six days and six nights he was Maggie's loyal friend and fellow…combatant。 They fought； side by side； in the great struggle for Martin's life。 They won； but when Maggie tried to look back afterwards on the history of that wrestling； she saw nothing connectedly； only the candle…light springing and falling； the little doctor's sharp eyes； the torn paper of the wall； the ragged carpet； and always that strange mask that was Martin's face and yet the face of a stranger； something tortured and fantastic； passing from Chinese immobility to frenzied pain； from pain to sweating exhaustion； from exhaustion back to immobility。
On the eighth day she rose； as a swimmer rises from green depths； and saw the sunshine and the landscape again。
〃He'll do if you're careful；〃 said Dr。 Abrams； and suddenly became once more the curious； dirty； sensual little creature that he had been at first。 Her only contact with the outer world had been her visits to the neighbouring streets for necessaries and one journey to the bank （the nearest branch was in Oxford Street） to settle about her money。 But now； with the doctor's words； the rest of the world came back to her。 She remembered Paul。 She was horrified to realise that during these days she had entirely forgotten him。 He； of course could not write to her because he did not know her address。 When she saw that Martin was quietly sleeping she sat down and wrote the following letter：
13A LYNTON STREET； KING'S CROSS； April 28th； 1912。
MY DEAR PAUL；I have been very wrong indeed not to write to you before this。 It's only of a piece with all my other bad behaviour to you； and it's very late now to saw that I am ashamed。 I will tell you the truth； which is that on the day I left you I had received a letter telling me that the friend of whom I have often told you was in England； very ill； and with no one to care for him。 I had to go。 I don't know whether it was right or wrongwrong I supposebut I always knew that if he ever wanted me I SHOULD go。 I've always been truthful to you about that。 When I came here I found that he was in horrible lodgings； very ill indeed； and with no one to look after him。 I HAD to stay； and now for a week he has been between life and death。 He had pneumonia some weeks ago and went out too soon。 His heart also is bad。 I believe now he can get well if great care is taken。
Dear Paul； I don't know what to say to you。 I have a bedroom in this house and every one is very kind to me； but you will think me very wicked。 I can't help it。 I can't come back to you and Grace。 Perhaps later when he is quite well I shall be able to； but I don't think so。 You don't need me； I have never been satisfactory to you； only a worry。 Grace will never be able to live with me again； and I can't stay in Skeaton any more after Uncle Mathew's death。 It has all been a wretched mistake； Paul； our marriage； hasn't it？ It was my fault entirely。 I shouldn't have married you when I knew that I would always love Martin。 I thought then that I should be able to make you happy。 If now I felt that I could I would come back at once； but you know as well as I do that； after this； we shall never be happy together again。 I blame myself so much but I can't act differently。 Perhaps when Martin is well he will not want me at all； but even then I don't think I could come back。 Isn't it better that at least I should stay away for a time？ You can say that I am staying with friends in London。 You will be happier without me； oh； much happier… …and Grace will be happier too。 Perhaps you will think it better to forget me altogether and then your life will be as it was before you met me。
I won't ask you to forgive me for all the trouble I have been to you。 I don't think you can。 But I can't do differently now。 Your affectionate MAGGIE。
She felt when she had finished it that it was miserably inadequate； but at least it was truthful。 As she wrote it her old feelings of tenderness and affection for Paul came back in a great flood。 She saw him during the many； many times when he had been so good to her。 She was miserable as she finished it； but she knew that there was nothing else to do。 And he would know it too。
A day later a long letter came from Paul。 It was very characteristic。 It began by saying that of course Maggie must return at once。 Throughout； the voice was that of a grieved and angry elder talking to a wicked and disobedient child。 She saw that； far beyond everything else； it was his pride that was wounded； wounded as it had never been before。 He could see nothing but that。 Did she realise； he asked her； what she was doing？ Sinning against all the laws of God and man。 If she persisted in her wickedness she would be cut off from all decent people。 No one could say that he had not shown her every indulgence； every kindness； every affection。 Even now he was ready to forgive her； but she must come back at once； at once。 Her extreme youth excused much； and both he and Grace realised it。
Through it all the straindid she not see what she was doing？ How could she behave so wickedly when she had been given so many blessings； when she had been shown the happiness of a Christian home？ 。 。 。
It was not a letter to soften Maggie's resolve。 She wrote a short reply saying that she could not come。 She thought then that he would run up to London to fetch her。 But he did not。 He wrote once more； and then； for a time； there was silence。
She had little interval in which to think about Paul； Martin soon compelled her attention。 He was well enough now to be up。 He would lie all day； without moving except to take his meals； on the old red sofa； stretched out there； his arms behind his head； looking at Maggie with a strange taunting malicious stare as though he were defying her to stand up to him。 She did stand up to him； although it needed all her strength； moral and physical。 He was attacking her soul and she was saving his 。 。 。
He said no more about his going away。 He accepted it as a fact that she was there and that she would stay there。 He had changed his position and was fighting her on another ground。
Maggie had once； years before； read in a magazine； a story about a traveller and a deserted house。 This traveller； lost； as are all travellers in stories； in a forest； benighted and hungry； saw the lights of a house。
He goes forward and finds a magnificent mansion； blazing with light in every window； but apparently deserted。 He enters and finds room after room prepared for guests。 A fine meal is laid ready and he enjoys it。 He discovers the softest of beds and soon is fast asleep； but when he is safely snoring back creep all the guests out of the forest； hideous and evil； warped and deformed； maimed and rotten with disease。 They had left the house； that he might be lured in it； knowing that he would never come whilst they were there。 And so they creep into all the rooms； flinging their horrible shadows upon the gleaming walls； and gradually they steal about the bed 。 。 。
Maggie forgot the end of the story。 The traveller escaped； or perhaps he did not。 Perhaps he was strangled。 But that moment of his awakening； when his startled eyes first stared upon those horrible faces； those deformed bodies； those evil smiles！ What could one do； one naked and defenceless against so many？
Maggie thought of this story during Martin's convalescence。 She seemed to see the evil guests； crowding back； one after the other into his soul； and as they came back they peeped out at her； smiling from the lighted windows。 She saw that his plan was to thrust before her the very worst of himself。 He said： 〃Well； I've tried to get rid of her and she won't go。 That's
