Idle to attempt surmises as to
the share of either side in what had come about; the difference had
been sufficiently grave to part them. And this parting was to him a
joy which shook his whole being. He could have raised a song of
exultation.
And in his hands lay complete evidence of the dead woman's
guiltlessness. To produce it was possibly to reconcile Arnold Jacks
and Irene. Viewed by his excited mind, the possible became certain;
he evolved a whole act of drama between those two, turning on
prejudices, doubts, scruples natural in their position; he saw the
effect of their enlightenment. Was it a tempting thought, that he
could give Irene back again into her bridegroom's arms.
It brought sweat to his forehead; it shook him with the fierce
torture of a jealous imagination. He fortified base suggestion by
the natural revolt of his flesh. Once had he passed through the
fire; to suffer that ordeal again was beyond human endurance. Irene
was free. He paced the room, repeating wildly that Irene was free.
And the mere fact of her freedom proved that she did not love the
man--so it seemed to him, in his subordination of every motive to
that passionate impulse. To him it brought no hope--what of that!
Irene did not belong to another man.
The fire needed stirring. As he broke the black surface of coal, a
flame shot up, red, lambent, a serpent's tongue. It had a voice; it
tempted.
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