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Secretary Clinton - Tomorrow Will Be Better

Secretary Clinton - Tomorrow Will Be Better

SECRETARY OF STATE CLINTON

UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF STATE WASHINGTON, D.C.

October 19, 2010 It Gets Better Video Transcript

Remarks of Secretary of State Clinton

Video for the “It Gets Better” Project

Washington, DC

Like millions of Americans, I was terribly saddened to learn of the recent suicides of several teenagers across our country after being bullied because they were gay or because people thought they were gay. Children are particularly vulnerable to the hurt caused by discrimination and prejudice and we have lost many young people over the years to suicide. These most recent deaths are a reminder that all Americans have to work harder to overcome bigotry and hatred.

I have a message for all the young people out there who are being bullied, or who feel alone and find it hard to imagine a better future: First of all, hang in there and ask for help. Your life is so important -- to your family, your friends, and to your country. And there is so much waiting for you, both personally and professionally -- there are so many opportunities for you to develop your talents and make your contributions.

And these opportunities will only increase. Because the story of America is the story of people coming together to tear down barriers, stand up for rights, and insist on equality, not only for themselves but for all people. And in the process, they create a community of support and solidarity that endures. Just think of the progress made by women just during my lifetime by women, or ethnic, racial and religious minorities over the course of our history -- and by gays and lesbians, many of whom are now free to live their lives openly and proudly. Here at the State Department, I am grateful every day for the work of our LGBT employees who are serving the United States as foreign service officers and civil servants here and around the world. It wasn't long ago that these men and women would not have been able to serve openly, but today they can -- because it has gotten better. And it will get better for you.

So take heart, and have hope, and please remember that your life is valuable, and that you are not alone. Many people are standing with you and sending you their thoughts, their prayers and their strength. Count me among them.

Take care of yourself.

____________________


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396 affair, and that some part in the arrangements would be taken by the Government; the first announcement made, however, was simply to the effect that the funeral would move from the establishment of Mr. Millington, undertaker, of Murray Street, at 9 on Saturday, and inviting friends of the deceased to attend. As previously stated by us, the body had been removed horn the Dog and Partridge Hotel, where the man died, to the dead-house at the Hospital, and, on an order being sought for its removal to the undertakers, it was declined, on the ground that, as the body was of the greatest scientific value, the authorities were determined to do all in their power to protect it. An application to the Colonial Secretary met with the same reply, and the Hon. Sir Richard Dry sent positive instructions to Dr. Stokell that the body of "King Billy" should be protected from mutilation: on this subject, however, we have more to communicate presently. On its being ascertained that the authorities were taking no steps respecting the obsequies, the matter was taken in hand by Mr. J. W. Graves, and invitations were issued to a number of old colonists and natives, requesting their attendance, the funeral being postponed until two o'clock. At that hour between fifty and sixty gentlemen presented themselves at the institution, and found all in readiness for the burial. Rumours had, meanwhile, got afloat to the effect that the body had been tampered with, and Captain McArthur, Mr. Colvin, and some others interested in the deceased, from his connexion with the whaling trade, requested that the coffin should be opened, in order to satisfy their minds that the ceremony of burial was not altogether a "vain show." This was done by Mr. Graves, and the body was seen by those who desired to see it, in the condition which will be hereafter described. The lid was then again screwed down, and, at the suggestion of some of those present, the coffin was sealed. In connexion with this part of the proceedings a singular accident occurred. On a seal being asked for, it was found that there was not such a thing in the institution, but on a search being made in the dispensary an old brass stamp was found, and on its being impressed upon the wax, it left the simple word "world." What such an odd seal could have been cut for is unknown, but its turning up under such circumstances, and its accidental use to seal down the coffin of the last man of his race, is a circumstance so singular as to be worth recording. Having been duly sealed, the coffin was covered with a black opossum skin rug, fit emblem of the now extinct race to which the deceased belonged; and on this singular pall were laid a couple of native spears and waddies, round which were twined the ample folds of a Union Jack, specially provided by the shipmates of the deceased. It was then mounted upon the shoulders of four white native lads, part of the crew of the Runnymede, who volunteered to carry their aboriginal

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64 probable that its prosperity may increase; and as it is convenient for vessels employed in the whale fishery to refit and refresh, I have no doubt they will now make it a frequent rendezvous. A considerable trade is carried on, chiefly in sandal-wood and bees-wax, which meet a ready sale in the Chinese market. Horses, which are of a small breed, but exceedingly hardy, form an article of export, principally to the Isle of France. They are most readily procured by vessels going along the coast, in exchange for powder and muskets;—the importation of these articles being prohibited at Coupang.

The British settlements on the north coast of New Holland are supplied from this place with buffaloes, sheep, and occasionally with other articles; and, as it was imagined that a commercial intercourse might be established, Mr. Bechade, who had entered into a contract to supply the settlement with fresh provisions, purchased a vessel to trade between Timor and Melville Island.

The chief mode of agriculture practised here is highly curious. To prepare a field for the reception of rice, maize, or wheat, a herd of buffaloes are turned into it, and chased to and fro, until the ground is imagined to be sufficiently wrought; and notwithstanding this slovenly system of husbandry, the fertile earth yields an abundant return.

Coupang, and the subordinate settlements along the coast, with the adjacent islands of Bottee and Semao, are governed by a Resident, (under the control of the

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102 more of thy love, O lord of men, aught anew, than I now have done, for work of war I am willing still! If it come to me ever across the seas that neighbor foemen annoy and fright thee,— as they that hate thee erewhile have used,— thousands then of thanes I shall bring, heroes to help thee. Of Hygelac I know, ward of his folk, that, though few his years, the lord of the Geats will give me aid by word and by work, that well I may serve thee, wielding the war-wood to win thy triumph and lending thee might when thou lackest men. If thy Hrethric should, come to court of Geats, a sovran’s son, he will surely there find his friends. A far-off land each man should visit who vaunts him brave.” Him then answering, Hrothgar spake:— “These words of thine the wisest God sent to thy soul! No sager counsel from so young in years e’er yet have I heard. Thou art strong of main and in mind art wary, art wise in words! I ween indeed if ever it hap that Hrethel’s heir by spear be seized, by sword-grim battle,


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Rh by illness or iron, thine elder and lord, people’s leader,—and life be thine,— no seemlier man will the Sea-Geats find at all to choose for their chief and king, for hoard-guard of heroes, if hold thou wilt thy kinsman’s kingdom! Thy keen mind pleases me the longer the better, Beowulf loved! Thou hast brought it about that both our peoples, sons of the Geat and Spear-Dane folk, shall have mutual peace, and from murderous strife, such as once they waged, from war refrain. Long as I rule this realm so wide, let our hoards be common, let heroes with gold each other greet o’er the gannet’s-bath, and the ringed-prow bear o’er rolling waves tokens of love. I trow my landfolk towards friend and foe are firmly joined, and honor they keep in the olden way.” To him in the hall, then, Healfdene’s son gave treasures twelve, and the trust-of-earls bade him fare with the gifts to his folk beloved, hale to his home, and in haste return. Then kissed the king of kin renowned, Scyldings’ chieftain, that choicest thane, and fell on his neck. Fast flowed the tears of the hoary-headed. Heavy with winters, he had chances twain, but he clung to this, —


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104 that each should look on the other again, and hear him in hall. Was this hero so dear to him, his breast’s wild billows he banned in vain; safe in his soul a secret longing, locked in his mind, for that lovéd man burned in his blood. Then Beowulf strode, glad of his gold-gifts, the grass-plot o’er, warrior blithe. The wave-roamer bode riding at anchor, its owner awaiting. As they hastened onward, Hrothgar’s gift they lauded at length.—’Twas a lord unpeered, every way blameless, till age had broken —it spareth no mortal—his splendid might.

Came now to ocean the ever-courageous hardy henchmen, their harness bearing, woven war-sarks. The warden marked, trusty as ever, the earl’s return. From the height of the hill no hostile words reached the guests as he rode to greet them; but “Welcome!” he called to that Weder clan as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on. Then on the strand, with steeds and treasure and armor their roomy and ring-dight ship was heavily laden: high its mast


text: The Oldest English Epic/Chapter 1/Beowulf 26


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bullokar, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bullokar, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulmer, Agnes


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 to Queen's Square, where I was most kindly received. Mr. Maurice had just returned from Cambridge and had four gentlemen with him; so I did not see him or Mrs. Maurice. Kate was busy making ornaments for a Christmas-tree "for the boys." I was there a long time, and it was a complete success. Miss Sterling grows every day kinder.

Ladies' Guild, December 19th, 1855.

I have received your letter and will attend to the business. ... About coming to Weybridge. … Mr. Maurice tells me that he will preach at Lincoln's Inn on Tuesday morning. Of course I cannot miss that; but I will, if necessary, as a great sacrifice, give up the morning service, on one condition, that it is not made a precedent for expecting it again. … I very much wish to spend some part of Christmas with you, and to see you again; but I very much wish you would all be contented, if I spent Christmas Eve with you, as I would much value to do so. See how people feel about it, and let me know.

Ladies' Guild, 4, Russell Place, December 24th, 1855. To.

I know very well that you will like to hear of my little darlings. For some time past I have written but little about them, because I have been much


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulmer, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulstrode, Edward


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulstrode, Richard


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 interested about other things; and they have been but little to me, except that I have treasured their affection much. I know now how much I have neglected them, and am at last thoroughly awakened from my dream. But I very much regret to say that a spirit has entered into the work-room which I do not think healthy. When I was with you, I think I must have spoken of the hardness of working when one is suspected, and not steadily cared for. Now I have a far different cause of complaint;—an exaggerated admiration, an immovable belief that all I do is perfect, a dislike of anyone who even tells me to do anything which they see I do not wish to do. But I trust soon to bring this also to reason. I care little for what is called a merry Christmas; but it made me very sad to hear all last week calculations about puddings, discussions as to whether they could not manage to come in for two Christmas dinners, mixed with laments that they should have to nurse a baby all day; no real pleasure to look forward to, with a very strong feeling that they had a right to some. I could bear it no longer. I proposed that we should have a snapdragon all together some evening. They were overjoyed. We found we could have a grand one by paying twopence each. Still I found that it was but little, as it would last so short a time. I then thought of a Christmas tree. I am going to Grandpapa's to-morrow, and shall endeavour to get a little fir or holly. All the children bought small things for it last Saturday, and will I daresay, do so next;—tapers, apples, oranges, nuts, &c. I then asked them to bring all their sisters, and all their brothers under twelve. Many did not wish for the trouble of taking care of the little ones; but I have insisted, and I believe prevailed. Of course we shall have grand


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulstrode, Whitelocke


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulteel, Henry Bellenden


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 games, sea's rough, hunt the slipper, old coach, frog in the middle, blind man's buff, &c. The children must all have tea before they come. Fortunately there is no ice to break. We all know one another. Andy is going to write a little play for them to act; and I shall teach them it during work. This is a great delight to them. Another thing which I anticipate great pleasure from is dancing. They will enjoy it much. Really the spirit shown has been beautiful. One of the girls has asked her mother to make a cake and send it. One great distress is that some of them have nothing but heavy boots, and so will not be able to dance. Poor little things! I wish I could do for them all which I have it in my heart to do. It will be a strange party; there will be no hostess; or rather, we shall all be hostesses. Each will have contributed what she could. Another thing which I mean to do, if I find it possible without bringing ourselves into bondage, is to ask for contributions from the richer members of the Guild. I am sure it will do both them and us good. But I trust to show to others and to myself, how much of what is precious in a party is entirely independent of any expenditure, and eating; how possible it is to have much fellowship and gaiety without large outlay of money. I have renounced parties myself. There is no longer any pleasure to be found in them, which may not be found better elsewhere. This love of immense gatherings is unmeaning. The love of show is detestable. There is no time for conversation, no place for affection, no purpose in them, or none which I can understand. And yet I do feel that this party will be a very nice one. I do believe it will succeed. I have renounced parties, above all I have renounced Christmas parties. It is now certainly a time for rejoicing. I believe it;


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulteel, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulwer, John


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 but, as one grows and lives, above all as year follows year, and there is removed from one's side one whose blessed smile has lighted our Christmas hearth, as the vacant chair becomes a witness of the lost one, as one is conscious of the "one mute presence watching all," when one has said in one's heart, "Why should we keep Christmas at all; witness as it is of change?" and one has answered, "Would the sense of change forsake you if you had no such time? Do you wish that it should leave you? Or has it taught you to put all trust in One who is unchanging, Who gives to all their work, Who binds all in one?" When one has felt all this, the mirth of Christmas is gone but not its value; witness, as it is, of that inward union of which we vainly strive to hold the outward symbol. We may spend it in the truest sense with those who have been called to other lands.

But these, my children, to whom care and anxiety are so familiar, and to whom all the beauty and poetry of life are so strange, so new,—I must bring home to them some of the gladness which they see around them; their only Christmas trees must not be those in confectioners' windows, at which they gaze with longing eyes. There is time enough for Christmas to become solemn, when it has become joyful and dear.

I thought that I loved these children when I was with you. I did not know how much it was possible to love them. I am very much pleased about another person, with whom I have been so long,—Miss Cons. She has now thoroughly established herself, and has begun to study, walk, think, draw, be entirely independent of me. More than this, when she came here, she had not a single person in the world to love or be loved by except her own family. … Our Miss Cons,


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 however, has got to know friends; and whoever cares to break through her shell will be well rewarded. I am most pleased to find that there are several who have done so, and that she is gaining warm friends. I find in her a strength and energy which is quite refreshing, and consign to her much which I should otherwise undertake myself. I feel, in Miss Cons, whose growth I have watched eagerly, an amazing perseverance, a calmness, a power, and a glorious humility before which I bow, and which I feel may be destined to carry out great works more nobly. I am particularly glad that she has friends, as I find that now instead of giving her my society, I can only give her my friendship and sympathy.

Now dear Miss Harris good night. I do most fervently hope that you may have a blessed Christmas and a Happy New Year.

January 11th, 1856. To

It is on loving, infinitely more than on being loved, that happiness depends. I feel how little the reception of one's services or love has to do with their power of giving joy. However, yesterday the children were particularly kind, dear little things! To-morrow the College begins again. Oh I am so glad the holidays are over! I have not heard from Ruskin. Perhaps I shall find a letter to-day. Shall I, I wonder, go to him to-morrow?

I am reading aloud to the children a very beautiful book by Miss Gillies; and it was so strange to meet with real things that I had done and said and heard said, long, long ago, when I used to stay there.

The Men's College is to be moved to Great Ormond


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iv. 36- injure us," and amāvāsye "at midnight of a day of new moon"; he has no suspicion of any connection with the doings at an eclipse, as half suggested by Grill. The line is quite unintelligible, and very probably of corrupt text. Most of the pada-mss. have the false accent prati॰kroçè. The comm. reads in c dipsanti for -tas.

4. I overpower the piçācás with power; I take to myself their property; I slay all the abusers; let my design be successful.

5. The gods that hasten (hās) with him—they measure speed with the sun—with those cattle (paçú) that are in the streams, in the mountains, I am in concord.

6. I am a vexer (tápana) of the piçācás, as a tiger of them that have kine; like dogs on seeing a lion, they do not find a hiding-place (nyáñcana).

7. I cannot [bear] with piçācás, nor with thieves, nor with savages (? vanargú); the piçācás disappear from that village which I enter.

8. Whatever village this formidable power of mine enters, from that the piçācás disappear; [there] they devise not evil.

9. They who anger me, making a noise, as flies an elephant—them I think ill off, like mites (?) on a man (jána).

The comm. (followed by a couple of SPP's authorities) has lipitās (= upadigdhāḥ saṁkrāntāḥ) at end of a; the pada-mss. read lapitā́, which SPP. in his pada-text emends to -tā́ḥ; but, as the participle in ta from such a root can hardly have an active sense, lapitvā́ would doubtless be a better alteration; the redundancy of a syllable, to be sure, would suggest deeper changes. Álpaçayūn in d, literally 'petty liers,' is conjecturally rendered, in accordance with the comm. (parimāṇato ‘lpakāyāḥ çayanasvabhāvāḥ saṁcārākṣamāḥ kīṭāḥ). SPP. reads dúrhitān j- (instead of -tāṅ or -tāñ ⌊see

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bunbury, Henry William


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Rh marble in the dim light. Horribly, her feet began their climb with a little catch step suggested by the moaning chant of that cracked organ note.

She reached the first of the undead, and Cliff saw light glint on a knife-blade. A crimson gash appeared in the flesh of her thigh; and dead lips touched that wound, drank thirstily. The girl strode on, blood gleaming darkly on the white skin. A second drank of the crimson flow—a third—and the blood ceased gushing forth.

Another knife flashed—and lips closed again and again on a redly dripping wound. And the girl with the unchanging pace of a robot climbed the stairway to its very top—climbed while fiendish corpses drank her life's blood—climbed, to sink down on the altar.

One of the red-clad figures stooped over her, lifted her, buried long teeth in her throat—and Cliff saw his face. His own face paled, and talons of fear raked his brain. Those others on the stairs—they were abhorrent, zombies freed from the grave. But this monster! A vampire vested with the lust and cruelty and power of hell!

He lowered her, finally, and she sank down, lay still, beside the other three.

Another began the hellish climb, a giant of a man with a thickly muscled torso. Cliff knew him instantly; and his heart seemed to stop. Leslie Starke! They'd played football together. A brave man—a fighter. He mounted the stairway with the same little catch step, the same plodding stiffness. No resistance, no struggle—only a hell of fear on his face.

The marrow melted from Cliff Darrell's bones. What—what could he do against a power that did that to Les Starke? He tried to swallow, but the saliva had dried on his tongue. He wanted to turn to Vilma, but he could not wrench his eyes from the frightful spectacle.

Up the stone steps Starke strode. And no blade leaped toward him; no thirsty lips closed on his flesh! In an unwavering line he mounted toward the cowled monster in the center of the dab, like a puppet on the end of a string; mounted to pause before the stone altar, to lie on it, head bent back, throat bared. Mercifully Cliff regained enough control to close his eyes.

He opened them at a gasp from Vilma; saw the vampire raise the flaccid body of Les Starke and hurl it far from him, to crash to the stone steps, to roll and thud and tumble, down and down, sickeningly, to lie awkwardly twisted on the floor before his companions!

And another began to climb the long stone steps.

All through the interminable night Cliff and Vilma crouched on the ledge, staring through the barred window. A hundred times they would have fled to escape the maddening scene, but they could not move. Senses reeled before the awful monotony of the ceaseless climbing, their eyes smarted with fixed staring, their tongues and throats were parched to desert dryness; yet only after hours of endless watching, only after the last victim had climbed the steps, did the edge of terror dull, and a modicum of control return to their bodies.

Stiffly Cliff looked over his shoulder. A faint tinge of gray rimmed the sea on the eastern horizon.

"Almost daylight," he whispered hoarsely.

Vilma nodded, her gaze still held by that chamber of horror. Cliff followed the direction of her eyes; and saw Corio standing like a great bat in his hooded cape close to the far wall. He raised his four-piped horn to his lips. And the instrument's fourth note crept through the room.


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 COPYRIGHT, 1908, 1915, 1921, DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1907, 1908, BY JOSEPH CONRAD PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

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211 note to i. 19. 4⌋), against the great majority of his mss. as well as all of ours; instead of it the comm. has durhatān.

10. Let perdition halter him, as a horse with a horse-halter (-abhi-dhā́nī); the fool (malvá) that is angry at me, he is not loosed from the fetter.

1. By thee of old the Atharvans slew the demons, O herb; by thee did Kaçyapa slay; by thee Kaṇva, Agastya.

2. By thee do we expel (cat) the Apsarases, the Gandharvas; O goat-horned one, drive the demon; make all disappear by [thy] smell.

3. Let the Apsarases go to the stream, to the loud (?) down-blowing of the waters: Guggulū, Pīlā, Naladī, Āukṣagandhi, Pramandanī: so go away, ye Apsarases; ye have been recognized.

⌊See Weber's note and reference to Rumpelstilzchen.⌋ Tārá in b is rendered "crossing"; but as this sense is found nowhere else, it seems safer to take the word as the adjective, common later; the comm. glosses it with tārayitāram, a worthless etymological guess. After it, instead of avaçvasam, the comm. reads iva svasam (= suṣṭhu nāupreraṇakuçalaṁ yathā), and, strangely enough, Ppp. has the same. As everywhere else where the word occurs, the mss. vary between gulgulu and guggulu, and SPP. reads the former and our edition the latter; here the decided majority, with Ppp. and the comm., give gulg- (our Bp.H.K. have gugg-). Pādas c and d appear to be made up of names of Apsarases, all formed upon odor-names: guggulū́ is fem. to gúggulu 'bdellium,' and naladī́ to nálada 'nard'; pramandanī́ is related with pramanda 'a certain fragrant plant'; and āukṣágandhi means something like 'ox-smell'; but the

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viii the fact of writing a story. What I remember best about Gaspar Ruiz is that it was written, or at any rate begun, within a month of finishing Nostromo; but apart from the locality, and that a pretty wide one (all the South American Continent), the novel and the story have nothing in common, neither mood, nor intention and, certainly, not the style. The manner for the most part is that of General Santierra, and that old warrior, I note with satisfaction, is very true to himself all through. Looking now dispassionately at the various ways in which this story could have been presented I can't honestly think the General superfluous. It is he, an old man talking of the days of his youth, who characterizes the whole narrative and gives it an air of actuality which I doubt whether I could have achieved without his help. In the mere writing his existence of course was of no help at all, because the whole thing had to be carefully kept within the frame of his simple mind. But all this is but a laborious searching of memories. My present feeling is that the story could not have been told otherwise. The hint for Gaspar Ruiz the man I found in a book by Captain Basil Hall, R.N., who was for some time, between the years 1824 and 1828, senior officer of a small British Squadron on the West Coast of South America. His book published in the thirties obtained a certain celebrity and I suppose is to be found still in some libraries. The curious who may be mistrusting my imagination are referred to that printed document, Vol. II, I forget the page, but it is somewhere not far from the end. Another document connected with this story is a letter of a biting and ironic kind from a friend then in Burma, passing certain strictures upon "the gentleman with the gun on his back" which I do not intend to make accessible to the public. Yet the gun

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a doleful sound, a cry like the cry Death itself might possess; yet oddly—and horribly—it was soothing, promising the peace of endless sleep. And touched by its power, the columns of undead stiffened, thinned to wraiths, flowed as water flows down the stone steps, vanished!

The dead-alive—those five vampires in crimson cowls—looked upward uneasily. The shadows under the roof were graying with the light of dawn. Cliff could sense their thought. Before sunrise they must be in their tombs under the castle, to sleep until another night. With one accord they strode down the stairs, past Corio who had prostrated himself, and entered a black opening in the wall. With their departure the altar fire dimmed to a sullen ember.

Corio arose. He was alone in the chamber save for that dead, broken body lying in a twisted heap at the foot of the stairs, and those other half-alive wretches stretched out before the altar. Now, Cliff told himself, was the time for him to get in there at Corio; now was the time to rescue his friends—but he continued to crouch, unmoving.

Again Corio blew on his silver horn, and a faint cry leaped from Vilma's tensed lips. The luring note that had drawn her, Cliff thought hazily; then he thought of nothing save the sound, the sound that promised him all he could desire. Earth and its dominion, his for the taking—if he answered that call! ... Then even the sound eluded his senses, and he heard only the promise. ... He must answer, must claim what was rightfully his!

But those half-dead creatures—sight of their stirring steadied his staggering sanity. Here and there heads lifted and bloodless husks of bodies tried to rise. In the pallid light they seemed like corpses, freed from newly opened graves. Some could only reach their knees; others rose to uncertain limbs. And all moved down the stairway toward Corio, answering his summons; followed as he made his slow way toward the opening in the wall, still blowing the single note—the note that promised Earth and all it held. ...

Cliff glanced toward Vilma—and she was not there. He looked down, saw her far below, dropping from crack to crevice with amazing speed and daring, hastening toward—Corio!

The thought jarred any lingering taint of allurement from Cliff's mind. He must stop her. He swung around, ignoring the cramped stiffness of his legs, and started down the steep wall. Down, down, recklessly, with Corio's horn-note only a faintly heard sound fading behind him.

Now he saw Vilma reach the rocks below and dash around the corner of the castle, and he cursed, redoubling his speed. Down—down—and suddenly the ancient rock crumbled underfoot. For an instant he hung from straining fingertips—then dropped.

A smashing impact—a stone that slid beneath him—and his head crashed against the castle wall. Through a fiery mist of pain he pictured Vilma in the grasp of Corio. The mist thickened—grew black—engulfed him.

4. In Corio's Hands

awoke with the sun glaring down on his face. He opened his eyes, and stabbing lances of light pierced his eyeballs. Momentarily blinded, he pressed his hands across his face and struggled erect. There was a sick feeling in his stomach, and the back of his head throbbed incessantly. He touched the aching area, and winced. A lump like an egg thrust out his scalp;


text: Page:A Set of Six.djvu/18

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Rh it was sticky with blood. He stood there, weaving from side to side, trying to recall something....

As memory came, he groaned. Vilma! He had last seen her racing madly toward Corio, lured by his damned horn. It was daylight now; the sun had risen at least an hour ago. An hour—with Vilma gone!

Shaking his head to clear it, and gritting his teeth at the pain, he stalked along the wall. Turning the corner he strode on toward the crooked steps. The lifeless terrain reeled dizzily, but he went on resolutely. The pain in his head was fading to a dull ache; and as he mounted the steps, strength seemed to flow back into his legs. With every sense taut he passed into the gloom of the castle.

A quick glance he cast about—saw the body of Starke lying where it had fallen. No use to examine it; there was no life there. His gaze swept up the slope of the stairway to the altar at its head, lingered on the phosphorescent eye of light still glowing there. Then he shrugged grimly and moved on to the doorway in the wall. Warily he peered in.

As his eyes adjusted themselves to the greater darkness, he saw a narrow stairway leading downward into a shadowy corridor. Somewhere in the tunnel's depths a faint light shone. He could see nothing more. He moved stealthily down the damp, dank stairs.

At the bottom he paused, listening. He could hear nothing. A hundred feet ahead, the corridor divided in two; a burning torch was thrust in the wall at the junction. Cliff nodded with satisfaction. Corio must be somewhere near by; for only a human needed light.

Silently Cliff strode along the corridor. At the fork he hesitated, then chose the tight branch, for light glowed faintly along that passageway. The other led downward, black as the pits of hell.

A doorway appeared in the wall ahead, and he moved warily, with fists clenched. Flickering torchlight filtered into the corridor. There was no audible sound. Now Cliff peered into a small chamber, and gasped in sudden horror, his eyes staring unwinkingly at a spectacle incredibly pitiful.

Here were the passengers of the Ariel, whitely naked, and lying in little groups on the cold stone floor, huddled together for warmth. Their faces turned toward Darrell as he stood in the doorway, but there was no recognition in the vacuous eyes, no thought, no intelligence, and little life in the wide-mouthed stares. It seemed as though their souls had been drained from their bodies with their blood.

Sickened, Cliff turned away, cursing his own helplessness to aid them, cursing Leon Corio who was responsible for their plight. Black wrath gripped him as he moved on.

Again the corridor branched, and again he kept to the right. Suddenly he halted, ears straining. He heard the sound of a voice—the hollow voice of Corio! It came faintly but clearly from a room at the end of the passageway. Cliff went forward slowly.

"And so, my dear," Corio was saying, "we entered into a pact with the—Master, a pact sealed with blood. In exchange for our lives we three were to bring other humans to this island for the feasting of the dead-alive. Every third month each of us must return with our cargo when the moon is full; and since we come back on alternating months, they have a constant supply of fresh blood. Usually some of our captives live from full moon to full moon before they become like those of the galley—the undead. Some of these we waken when it


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Butler, Samuel (1612-1680)


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year I spent the best two months of the dry season on one of the estates—in fact, on the principal cattle estate—of a famous meat-extract manufacturing company.

B.O.S. Bos. You have seen the three magic letters on the advertisement pages of magazines and newspapers, in the windows of provision merchants, and on calendars for next year you receive by post in the month of November. They scatter pamphlets also, written in a sickly enthusiastic style and in several languages, giving statistics of slaughter and bloodshed enough to make a Turk turn faint. The "art" illustrating that "literature" represents in vivid and shining colours a large and enraged black bull stamping upon a yellow snake writhing in emerald-green grass, with a cobalt-blue sky for a background. It is atrocious and it is an allegory. The snake symbolizes disease, weakness—perhaps mere hunger, which last is the chronic disease of the majority of mankind. Of course everybody knows the B. O. S. Ltd., with its unrivalled products: Vinobos, Jellybos, and the latest unequalled perfection, Tribos, whose nourishment is offered to you not only highly concentrated, but already half digested. Such apparently is the love that Limited Company bears to its fellowmen—even as the love of the father and mother penguin for their hungry fledglings.

Of course the capital of a country must be productively employed. I have nothing to say against the

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136 company. But being myself animated by feelings of affection towards my fellow-men, I am saddened by the modern system of advertising. Whatever evidence it offers of enterprise, ingenuity, impudence, and resource in certain individuals, it proves to my mind the wide prevalence of that form of mental degradation which is called gullibility.

In various parts of the civilized and uncivilized world I have had to swallow B. O. S. with more or less benefit to myself, though without great pleasure. Prepared with hot water and abundantly peppered to bring out the taste, this extract is not really unpalatable. But I have never swallowed its advertisements. Perhaps they have not gone far enough. As far as I can remember they make no promise of everlasting youth to the users of B. O. S., nor yet have they claimed the power of raising the dead for their estimable products. Why this austere reserve, I wonder? But I don't think they would have had me even on these terms. Whatever form of mental degradation I may (being but human) be suffering from, it is not the popular form. I am not gullible.

I have been at some pains to bring out distinctly this statement about myself in view of the story which follows, I have checked the facts as far as possible. I have turned up the files of French newspapers, and I have also talked with the officer who commands the military guard on the Ile Royale, when in the course of my travels I reached Cayenne. I believe the story to be in the main true. It is the sort of story that no man, I think, would ever invent about himself, for it is neither grandiose nor flattering, nor yet funny enough to gratify a perverted vanity.

It concerns the engineer of the steam-launch belonging to the Marañon cattle estate of the B. O. S. Co., Ltd.

title: Page:A Set of Six.djvu/156


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burneston, Simon


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270 suits oar fancy; they are not like the Masters; they awaken only when we call them—we three or the Masters.

"More than life they give us for what we do. Centuries ago pirates used this island for refuge. They—died—and they left their treasure in this castle. It lies in the room where the Masters lie; and we three receive payment in gold and gems. Tonight I receive my pay, and tomorrow I leave on the Ariel—and you go with me!"

Cliff heard Vilma answer, and even while his heart leaped with relief, he marveled at the cool scorn in her voice. "So I go with you, do I? I'd rather climb the stairs with the rest of your victims than have anything to do with you—you monster! When Cliff Darrell finds you——"

"Darrell!" Corio's voice was a frozen sneer. "He'll do nothing! I'll find him— and he'll wish he could climb the stairs of blood! As for you, you'll go with me, and like it! A drop of my blood in your veins, and you will belong to the Master, as I do. We shall attend to that; but first there is something else—more pleasant." His words fell to an indistinguishable purr.

Still moving stealthily, Cliff hastened forward. Suddenly Vilma screamed; and he launched himself madly across the remaining distance, stood crouching at the threshold.

Vilma lay on an ancient bed, her wrists and ankles bound with leather thongs drawn about the four tall bed-posts. Only the torn remnants of her under-garments covered the rounded contours of her body, and Corio crouched over her, caressing the pink flesh. Vilma writhed beneath his touch.

growled deep in his throat as he sprang. Corio spun around and leaped aside, but he was too slow to escape Cliff's powerful lunge. One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a rock-like fist, made a bloody ruin of his mouth. Howling with pain, Corio tried to sink his teeth in Cliff's arm.

Cliff flung him aside, following with the easy glide of a boxer. Corio crawled to his feet, cringing, dodging before the nemesis that stalked him. Again Cliff leaped, and Corio, yellow with fear, darted around the bed and ran wildly into the hallway. At the door Cliff checked himself, reason holding him. Corio could elude him with ease in this labyrinth of passages; and his first concern was Vilma's safety.

He returned to the bed. Vilma looked up at him with such relief and thankfulness on her face that Cliff, with a little choked cry, flung himself to his knees beside the bed and kissed her hungrily. For moments their lips clung; then Cliff straightened shakily, trying to laugh.

"We've got to get out of here, sweetheart," he said. "I'm not afraid of Corio, but he knows things about this place that we don't know. After you're safe on the yacht, I'll come back and get him."

He looked around for something with which to cut her bonds. On the wall above the bed were crossed a pair of murderous-looking cutlases. Seizing one of these, Cliff wrenched it from its fastenings and drew it through the cords. ... She stood beside him, free.

"Your clothing——" Cliff began, his eyes on her almost-nude body.

She blushed and pointed mutely to a heap of rags on the floor. Her eyes flamed wrathfully. "He—he ripped them from me!"

The muscles of Cliff's jaws knotted, and he scowled as he surveyed the room for a drape or hanging to cover her. For the first time he really saw the place. All the lavish splendor of royalty had been


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burdy, Samuel


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burnes, Alexander


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On the Artisans' Dwellings Act of 1875.

I was closely associated with Miss Octavia Hill in 1873, during the inquiry by a committee of the C.O.S. into the whole question of the dwellings of the working classes in London. It was a remarkable committee, over which the late Lord Napier and Ettrick presided, and to which nearly everyone then prominent in the work of improved dwellings belonged, including such men as Lord Shaftesbury, Sir Sidney Waterlow, Mr. Hughes (Tom Brown), etc., etc. Mr. Bosanquet was then Secretary of the C.O.S., and took an active part.

In 1874, with encouragement from Miss Octavia Hill and others, I brought the subject before the House of Commons, basing my speech a good deal on the excellent and very practical report of the C.O.S. Committee. In the debate on my motion, Mr. (now Lord) Cross, who was then Home Secretary, promised a Bill, which he introduced and passed on the part of Mr. Disraeli's Government in 1875—the Artisans' Dwellings Act. In the consideration of that Bill Miss Octavia Hill again gave valuable advice; and when, a few years afterwards (about the year 1880), a committee of the C.O.S. was appointed to consider the working of the Act, and how far it should be amended, she and I again worked together upon that committee, and I remember gratefully the signal help which she then gave.

Miss Octavia Hill was pre-eminently fitted for contributing an exceptional amount of practical knowledge, experience, and wisdom at the meetings of such committees and conferences on a subject which she had


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Holden, Oliver


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 made her own. She would quietly listen to a discussion of some point, and at last say a few weighty words in her calm, impressive, tactful way, which would carry with her the general assent of all, or nearly all, who heard her, and would thus promptly bring the debate to a sound conclusion.

I think it was in the 'eighties that, in a certain London parish, a progressive clergyman and his Church Council rather impulsively took up a housing improvement scheme. Before launching it, they were persuaded by one of their members to ask Miss Hill's advice. I was present at the meeting of the Council which she kindly consented to attend. According to what, I think, was her habit, she sat quite silent for perhaps an hour or more, while various members propounded their ideas and sketched out the scheme. When they had quite finished, she very quietly and gently, but convincingly, said a few words of common sense which showed that the scheme, though admirably intended, was unpractical; and from that moment it ceased to exist. This was an instance of the weight which she carried, by her tact and wisdom and experience, even in a meeting of people who, with one or two exceptions, were, I believe, complete strangers.

Derwent Bank, Boughton, Carlisle, March 28th, 1875.

The boarding-out here is really heart-cheering to see.

What do you think that the Barnetts' great news was? That they had had a legacy, and wanted to spend it in rebuilding their worst court irrespective of


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 making it pay, or waiting for the Bill. Of course I said by all means; and now, if they can but purchase, I think that it will give new life to their future there, to see some tangible and radical reform actually achieved.

14 Nottingham Place, April 19th, 1875.

On Tuesday a batch of orders was issued by Dr. —— which (or rather all that grow out of that fact) gives me a good deal of trouble,—more I believe, a great deal, than it ought. I believe that, if I could make up my mind that I see the right thing pretty distinctly, and can do it and leave the result, it would be far better; but I am apt to go over and over the subject, hoping to think out better measures, brooding over it. I know that the way to succeed is to think perpetually of things, till one suddenly sees the straight way through the difficulties; but it becomes, sometimes, very wearing; and it is useless, whenever the only straight way is that of waiting till the right has time to win the day by its own innate force. I fancy that is the case here; our action has to be next to nothing; time, extreme silence, and great patience will secure the final accomplishment of whatever may be best with regard to the poor houses. I need not mind if little plans of mine fail wholly; still less need I tremble if dangers threaten them. There may be fifty reasons why it may be best for them all to sink to nothing. But it is not they and their outward forms that I have lived for, but all they are meant to help to achieve; and this, well thou knows, must succeed if I and they are annihilated.


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 Mary, I think the thing I most failed to convey to thee of all I had wanted thee to know, was the intense blessing that Mama is to us all. I think I understand her so very much more than I have done all my life; her sympathy is so delightful; and, now that I am sharing her room, I have time to tell her the events of the day. I think the sense of life is a joy to her; while often she puts before me principles bearing on questions under consideration quite beautifully.

14 Nottingham Place, W., April 25th, 1875.

The public-house trial is over; and we won triumphantly and conclusively, and are very thankful for it. But the spirit of the people was very dreadful; and it doesn't augur well for the future work. Fifty vestrymen and 150 ratepayers signed in favour of the license. Several vestrymen attended and gave evidence.

Mr. Fremantle was very brave and true-hearted. Sir J. H. was in a towering rage, and tried to annoy me with things that didn't touch me. But it all points to future difficulty. However, I cannot say I am discouraged. As long as there was hope of peace from explanation and care, I was full of anxiety; but now we must go straight on; and, if storm comes, the law is over us all, and what it decrees, we will all readily do.

Miss Cons, as always when need is great, is very good just now.

April 28th, 1875.

I see by Saturday's Mercury the doctor promises another report on B. Court soon. But I,—well I read


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Page:West Kootenay Power and Light Co. Number One Hydro-Electric Development 02.jpg

 The Occasion of the Opening of

Number One Hydro-Electric Development

of the

West Kootenay Power and Light Company, Limited

BONNINGTON FALLS, British Columbia

AUGUST 1st, 1925

NO. 1 POWER HOUSE, LOWER BONNINGTON FALLS, BRITISH COLUMBIA

NO. 2 POWER HOUSE, UPPER BONNINGTON FALLS, BRITISH COLUMBIA

NO. 3 POWER HOUSE, CASCADE CITY, BRITISH COLUMBIA


text:
User:Spideog/Irish copyright

Enclosed below is an e-mail I sent to permissions-commons@wikimedia.org in March, which was not answered, and which includes my e-mail correspondence in 2011 with the Irish Parliament (Oireachtas). This is followed by my e-mail correspondence with the Irish Presidency (Áras an Uachtaráin) in 2012. For privacy, I have replaced my real name with "Wikisource User O'Dea" and the name and e-mail address of my correspondents with "First Last". The actual real names and e-mail addresses were sent to permissions-commons@wikimedia.org in March. O'Dea (talk) 22:21, 18 May 2012 (UTC)

title: User:Spideog/Irish copyright


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Page:Weird Tales volume 28 number 03.djvu/16

Rh expended on this chamber. It might have been the bedroom of a king, except that the ancient furnishings belonged to no particular period; were, in fact, the loot of raids extended over centuries. Yet despite its splendor, everything was repulsive, cloaked with the same air of unearthly gloom that hovered about the galley.

He moved toward an intricately woven tapestry; but Vilma checked him, shuddering with revulsion.

"No, Cliff—it's too much like grave clothes. Everything about this place makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather stay as I am than touch any of it!"

Cliff nodded slowly. "Let's go then."

They hurried through the corridors toward the stairway, with Cliff holding the cutlas in readiness. As they passed the room in which lay the Ariel's passengers, he tried to divert Vilma's attention, but she looked in as though hypnotized.

"I saw them before," she whispered. "It's awful."

As they started up the stairway to the great hall, Cliff took the lead. He moved with utmost caution.

"It doesn't seem right," he said uneasily. "We should hear from Corio."

At that moment they did hear from him—literally. From somewhere in the maze of tunnels came the sound of his accursed horn—the note of sleep! It swirled insidiously about their heads, numbing their senses. Cliff felt his stride falter, saw Vilma stumble, and he hurled himself forward furiously, gripping her arm.

"Hurry!" he shouted, striving to pierce the fog of sleep, "We've got to get out! Damn him!"

Vilma rallied for an instant, and they reached the top of the stairs. On—across that wide, wide room, each step a struggle. ... On while the droning sound floated languidly through every nerve cell. ... On—till their muscles could no longer move, and they sagged to the hard stone, asleep.

OMENTS later Cliff opened his eyes to meet the hellish glare of Leon Corio. Corio smiled thinly.

"So—you awaken. Good! I would have you know the fate I have planned for you. You see this?" He held the cutlas high above Darren's throat like the blade of a guillotine. "With this I could end your life quite painlessly and quickly. It really would prove entertaining for Miss Bradley, I'm sure." He chuckled faintly behind bruised and swollen lips.

Cliff squirmed, striving to rise, then subsided instantly. He was bound hand and foot.

"I could kill you," Corio repeated musingly, "but that would lack finesse." His teeth bared in a feline smile. "And it would be such a waste—of blood! Instead, I'll take you out to the galley and let you lie there till her crew awakens tonight. They have tasted blood, and after tonight will taste none again for another month. I imagine they'll—drain you dry!" The last phrase was a vicious snarl.

Cliff heard Vilma utter a suppressed sob, and he turned his head. She lay close by, bound like him with strips of leather. Furiously Cliff strained at his fetters, but they held.

"And while you wait for those gentle Persians to awaken," Corio continued in tones caressingly soft, "you can think of your sweetheart in my arms! It may teach you not to strike your betters—though you can never profit by your lesson."

Stooping, he raised Cliff's powerful form and managed to fling him over one shoulder. Then he moved from the great


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Mayo, Amory Dwight


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 как разовьются события. Let's wait and see how events will shape up. □ Под дождём у неё волосы развились. The rain took the wave out of her hair.

развлёк See развлечь.

развлекать (dur of развлечь).

-ся to amuse oneself. У меня работы по горло, мне развлекаться некогда. I'm so busy I don't have any time for amusements.

развлеку See развлечь.

развлечение amusement. Для развлечения я стал учиться игре в шахматы. For amusement, I began to learn chess. • entertainment. Эта новая игру — прекрасное развлечение. This new game is excellent entertainment. — Развлечений тут мало. There's not much around here in the way of entertainment. • recreation. Я читаю беллетристику по вечерам — вот и все мой развлечения. I read fiction in the evenings; that's my entire recreation.

развлечь (-влеку, -влечёт; p -влёк, -влекла -о, -и; pct of развлекать) to entertain. Пойдите развлеките публику, пока не начнётся спектакль. Entertain the audience before the performance starts. • to cheer up (someone). Он все грустит. Чем бы его развлечь? He's been sad lately. How can we cheer him up?

развод divorce. Получить развод теперь не так просто. It's not so easy fo get a divorce nowadays. □ Они в разводе. They're divorced. • Где это вы купили галстук с такими разводами? Where did you buy that figured tie?

разводить (-вожу, -водит; dur of развести) to breed. Этот колхоз разводит породистых свиней. This kolkhoz breeds good hogs. • to raise. Мы разводим кур только для себя. We raise chickens only for ourselves. □ Что за чепуху вы разводите! What nonsense you're saying! • *Делайте сразу, нечего канитель разводить. Do it at once; don't drag it out.

-ся to divorce. Я слыхал, что они разводятся. I've heard they're going to be divorced.

развожу See разводить.

развожусь See разводиться.

развяжу See развязать.

развяжусь See развязаться.

развязать (-вяжу, -вяжет; pct of развязывать) to untie. Развяжите, пожалуйста, этот узел. Untie this knot, please, • to loosen. Вино развязало языки, и все начали рассказывать о своих приключениях. Wine loosened their tongues and they all began to talk of their experiences. □ Дёрнуло же вас вдруг развязать язык! Why did you open your big mouth?

-ся to be untied. У вас галстук развязался. Your tie is untied. • to rid oneself of. Погодите, я развяжусь с этими посетителями и мы пойдём. Wait, I'll get rid of the visitors and we'll go.

развязка ending. Правда, что вы любите фильмы только со счастливой развязкой? Is it true that you like only pictures with happy endings?

развязывать (dur of развязать). □ развязывать руки to free someone's hands. Новое распоряжение развязывает нам руки. The new ruling frees our hands. □ Зачем развязывать чемоданы, если вы здесь не остаётесь? Why unpack your suitcases if you're not staying here?

разгадать (pct of разгадывать) to solve. Я не мог разгадать этой загадки. I couldn't solve this putzle. • to guess. Я сразу разгадал его намерения. I guessed his intentions immediately.

разгадка solution. Разгадка этой шарады — в воскресном номере. The solution to this puzzle is in the Sunday issue.

разгадывать (dur of разгадать).

разгар thick. Он вошёл, когда спор был в самом разгаре. He came in during the very thick of the argument. □ полный разгар full swing. У нас работа в полном разгаре. Our work is in full swing.

разглядеть (-гляжу, -глядит, pct) to see clearly. В темноте невозможно было разглядеть номер дома. It was impossible to see the number of the house clearly in the dark.

разглядывать (dur) to look through. Пока вас не было, я разглядывал ваша фотографии. While you weren't here, I was looking through your photographs.

разгляжу See разглядеть.

разговаривать (dur) to talk. О чём вы с ним так долго разговаривали? What did you talk with him about so long? — Ох, как много у вас тут разговаривают! They talk so damned much around here! □ Мы с ними уже год как не разговариваем. We haven't been on speaking terms with them for a year now.

разговор (/g -у/) conversation. Наш товарищ вступил в разговор с шофёром. Our comrade entered into a conversation with the driver. — Подождите, наш разговор ещё не кончен. Wait a minute; the conversation isn't ended yet. • talk. У нас был длинный разговор на эту тему. We had a long talk on this subject. • discussion. Какие тут могут быть разговоры? Это нужно сделать немедленно. This is no matter for discussion. It simply has to be done right away. • argument. Иди спать без разговоров. Go to bed and no arguments, now. □ переменить разговор to change the topic. Я пытался переменить разговор, но куда там! I tried to change the topic, but it was no use. разговоры gossip. Вы бы не так часто с ней встречались, а то пойдут разговоры. To avoid gossip, you oughtn't to go out with her so often. телефонный разговор (telephone) call. У меня вчера было несколько иногородних телефонных разговоров. I had several long-distance calls yesterday. □ У нас с ним был крупный разговор. We had words. • Вы в понедельник не уедете. Об этом и разговору быть не может! It's altogether out of the question. You're not going Monday.

разговорный colloquial. Я этого никогда не слыхал, это не разговорное выражение. I never heard this; it just isn't a colloquial expression.

разговорчивый talkative.

разгоню See разогнать.

разгонять (dur of разогнать).

разгораться (dur of разгореться) to begin to burn. Дрова сырые; не разгораются. The firewood is damp; it won't begin to burn. • to spread. А пожар всё разгорается! The fire keeps spreading!

разгореться (-горюсь, -горится; pct of разгораться) to run high. Ну, теперь страсти разгорелись — дело может


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272 hall, down the stone steps, and across the dead plain with its sighing skeleton trees. He was panting jerkily by the time he came to the fissure leading to the cove, but he reached it, despite Cliff's two hundred pounds. Without pausing, he went on into the cavern, along the rock ledge, to step at last upon the deck of the black galley.

"Pleasant thoughts," he said gently as he dropped Cliff to the spongy boards, "You have only to wait till dark!"

Cliff listened to his rapid footfalls till they died in distance; then there was no sound save his own breathing. Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the heavy gloom, and he saw that Corio had dropped him just at the edge of the rowers' pit. There were white things down there—bones, pale as marble, scattered about aimlessly. Could—could those bones join to make the rowers who would arise with the night? It seemed absurd—was absurd—yet he knew it was so! He had seen too much to doubt it.

He rolled over on his back and stared upward into the shadows. He must lie here helpless while Corio returned to Vilma—did with her as he pleased! Perhaps he might even transform her into a blood-tainted monster like himself! He saw her again in that room of ancient splendor, spread-eagled to the bed; and the muscles corded in his arms, and his lips strained white in a futile effort to break free.

Interminably he lay there waiting. The galley was damp with the chilling dampness of a sepulcher, and the dampness penetrated deeper and deeper. Clamping his jaws together to prevent their quivering, he struggled against a rising tide of madness which gnawed at his reason. His mind began to crunch and jangle like a machine out of gear, threatening to destroy itself.

On and on in plodding indifference the stolid moments passed, till at last Cliff realized that it was growing darker. He rolled over on his side and stared into the galley pit, eyes fixed on the inert masses of white. Soon they would move! Soon the undead would rise! His thoughts, touched by the whips of dread, sped about like slaves seeking escape from a torture pit. And abruptly out of the welter of chaotic ideas came one straw of sanity; he seized it, his heart hammering with hope.

Those Persian sailors were armed! Their swords and knives were real, for they cut flesh! Somewhere among their bones must lie sharp-edged blades!

He struggled to the edge of the pit, let his feet drop over. As they touched, he balanced precariously for an instant, then fell to his knees. He peered feverishly about among white bones, moldering garments, and rusted armor—and saw a faint glimmer of light on pointed steel. He sank forward on his face in the direction of the gleam, turned over, squirmed and writhed till he felt the cold blade against his hands. He caught it between his fingers and began sawing back and forth.

It was heart-breaking work. Age had dulled the weapon, and long slivers of rust flaked off, but the leather which bound him was also ancient. Though progress was slow, and the effort laborious, Cliff knew his bonds were weakening.

But it was growing darker. Even now he could see only a suggestion of gray among the shadows. If those undead things materialized while he lay among them! ... Sweat stood out on his forehead and he redoubled his efforts, straining at the leather as he sawed.

With a snap the cords parted and his hands were free. A single slash severed the thongs about his ankles, and he stood W. T.—1


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Rh up, leaped to the deck. Not an instant too soon! There was movement in the pit—a hideous crawling of bones assembling themselves into skeletal form....

Cliff waited to see no more. There were limits to what one could see and remain sane. With a bound he crossed the rotting deck, and sprang ashore. Despite the dark, he almost ran from the madness of that cave, ran till he passed through the wall of rock, till he saw the rim of the moon gleaming behind the castle.

5. The End of the Island

UT on the plain he sprinted through the ghostly forest. He knew he had no time to spare—knew that soon the march of torture would begin—knew that if Vilma were within the castle, she must answer the summons of Corio's horn. Even now light glowed faintly in the high, square windows.

That horn! At the foot of the steps he stopped short. If he heard the horn, he too must answer! He dared not risk it. With impatient fingers he tore a strip of doth from his shirt, rolled it into a cylinder, and thrust it into his ear. Another for the other ear—and he darted up into the castle.

A sweeping glance revealed no one, only the murky glow of the altar fire, and the wraiths of smoke pluming upward toward the shadowed roof. Wishing now that he had brought a weapon from the galley, Cliff crossed to the opening in the wall. He stood at the top of the steps, listening, then cursed silently as he remembered that he could bear none but very loud sounds. He saw nothing; so he hastened down into the corridor. His steps were swiftly stealthy as he moved toward Corio's room.

He was past the first branching passage, when a sixth sense warned him of someone's approach. He ran swiftly to the next fork, then paused within its shelter and glanced back, saw five red-cowled figures glide along the tunnel and vanish up the stairway. Cliff frowned. With the vampires in the great hall, Corio must soon follow, leading his victims to the blood-feast. He drew back deeper into the shadows.

His groping hands touched something in the dark—round and hard—like a keg. Curiously he investigated. It was a keg, and there were others. A sandy powder trailed to the floor from a crack in one of them. Thoughtfully Cliff let it run through his fingers. Gunpowder! Of course—he had heard Corio mention pirates and their treasure, and this had been their cache of explosive. An idea was forming....

He looked up to see a shadow pass the mouth of the tunnel; he crept forward and peered out He saw the blade-hooded figure of Leon Corio striding along, saw him enter the room where the passengers of the Ariel lay. In a breath Cliff was down the corridor to Corio's room. A tarnished silver candelabrum shed faint light through the chamber, and by its flickering glow he searched for Vilma, thoroughly, painstakingly—futilely.

He stood in the center of the room in indecision, his forehead creased with anxiety. If only he could find her, he'd know how to plan! He ran his hand through his hair helplessly, then heard very faintly the luring note of Corio's horn. She must answer that summons, unless Corio had her tied somewhere. His best chance of finding her lay in the hall above.

On the wall still hung the mate of the cutlas he had used to free Vilma; he wrenched it down and ran out into the corridor. The last of the naked marchers was disappearing up the stairway, Now W. T.—2


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274 the horn-note died, and he could feel more than hear the rumbling bass of the dirge from the depths below him.

He ran the rest of the distance along the passageway and mounted the steps two at a stride. He looked into the torture hall. As on the previous night, Corio stood far back, close to the wall in which Cliff crouched. The arms of the Master were raised high; raised, Cliff knew though he could not hear it, in a blasphemous incantation. And then he saw something that sent a crimson lance of fury crashing through his brain.

Vilma, stripped like the rest, stood with the other victims at the foot of the long steps! Her body gleamed pinkly, in contrast to the pallid drabness of the half-dead automatons, and she held her head proudly erect. But from where he stood Cliff could see the side of her face, and it bore a look of terror.

He could see Corio's face, too, and he was looking at the girl, baffled fury glaring from his eyes—as though she were there against his will.

Cliff's first impulse was to fling himself out there with his cutlas and hack a way to freedom for Vilma and himself, but cold reason checked this folly. Such a course could end only in death. Motionless he watched the scene before him, his brain frantically seeking a plan with even a ghost of a chance of succeeding.

The gunpowder! There was enough of the stuff below to blast this entire castle into the hell where it belonged! Hastily he retraced his steps to the tunnel in which he had found the kegs, plucking the torch from its niche in the wall as he passed it. He held it high above his head as he examined the contents of the broken keg. Unmistakably gunpowder!

Thrusting the cutlas beneath his belt, he clutched a handful of the black dust. Then, crouching close to the floor, he drew an irregular thread through the passageway toward the stairs. Once he returned for more powder, but in a few minutes the job was done. At the foot of the steps where the trail ended, he touched his torch to the black line and watched a hissing spark snake its white-smoked way back toward the powder kegs. An instant he watched it, then sprang up the stairs. He'd have to move fast!

With a hideous howl he darted into the hall, his cutlas above his head. Corio spun about—and it was his last living act. A single sweep of the great blade sheared his head from his neck, sent it rolling grotesquely along the floor. For three heart-beats the body stood with a fountain of blood spurting from severed arteries; then it crashed.

Coolly Cliff leaned over the twitching cadaver, ignoring the bedlam on the stairs, the horde sweeping down toward him, hurling aside the waiting humans. He pried open clutching fingers, seized a twisted silver instrument, and raised it to his lips.

HE mass of undead were almost upon him, the murky light glinting on menacing blades, when Cliff blew the first note. The note of sleep! He tried again, hastily. And it was the right one! At the doleful, soothing sound the undead halted in their tracks; halted—and melted into nothingness before his eyes!

But now those other five in their robes of bloody red—they were charging, and even though they were unarmed, Cliff felt a stab of fear. They possessed powers beyond the human, powers a mortal could not combat. He braced himself and waited.

At the bottom of the steps they stopped, ranging in a wide half-circle. The central monster—the Master—flung up his arms in a strangely terrifying gesture, and Cliff saw his carmine lips move


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Rh in a chant which he could not hear. Something, a chilling Presence, hovered about him, seemed to settle upon him, cloaking him with the might of the devil himself. That unheard incantation continued, and Cliff felt a cold rigidity creeping through every fiber, slowly freezing his limbs into columns of ice.

With a mighty effort of will he flung himself toward that accursed drinker of blood—and at that instant a terrific detonation rocked the ancient building, and a cloud of smoke and flame burst from the opening in the wall. Cliff was hurled from his feet, rolled over and over, and crashed against the wall by the awful concussion, the cutlas and silver horn sent whirling through the air.

Dizzily he staggered to his feet, crouching defensively. Sounds came to him clearly now; the explosion must have jarred the plugs from his ears. He scanned the room; saw the unclad humans scattered everywhere, most of them lying still and unconscious. He saw Vilma rising slowly; then he looked for the monsters in red. Startled, he saw them rushing toward the opening in the wall, to vanish in its smoke-filled interior. Why did they? Then he knew. Down there somewhere were their graves—graves rent and broken by the explosion—graves threatened by the flames—and panic had seized the vampires, fear of the death which would result with exile from their tombs!

Unsteadily Cliff crossed to Vilma. She saw him coming and flung herself sobbing into his arms. He crushed her lithe form close—and another explosion, more violent than the first, sent a section of the stone floor leaping upward as though with life of its own. Clinging to Vilma, Cliff managed to maintain his footing, though the floor bucked and heaved. A snapping, booming roar—and a great chasm opened in the floor. A breathless instant—and a segment of the stone stairs, rumbling thunderously, dropped out of sight into a newly formed pit! With it went the blasphemous altar and its phosphorescent fire.

Deafened, stunned, momentarily powerless to move, Cliff's mind groped for an explanation. It seemed incredible that gunpowder could cause such havoc. And the swaying of the floor continued; the thick stone walls shook alarmingly. Suddenly he understood. An earthquake! The explosions had jarred the none-too-stable understrata of rock into spasmodic motion that must grind everything to bits! The island was doomed! And Earth would be better without it.

If only they could reach the Ariel first!

New strength flowed through him, and hugging Vilma close, he staggered toward the spot where he knew the door must be. Somehow he reached it, and reeled down the broken stone steps.

The plain of dead trees swayed like the deck of a ship in a storm as Cliff started across it. A gale had arisen and swept in from the sea, ripping dry branches from the skeleton growths and whirling them about like straws. Yet somehow Cliff reached the crevice in the rock wall with his burden, reached the deck of the galley, crossed it, and won to the safety of the Ariel. Minutes later, with Diesel engines purring, they crept out through the narrow channel into the open sea.

EN minutes later the Isle of the Undead lay safely behind them. Vilma had dressed; and now they sat together in the pilot house. Cliff had one arm about her, and one hand on the wheel.

"And so," the girl was saying, "while Corio carried you to that terrible old boat, I got loose. He hadn't tied me very tightly, and I slipped my hands


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 кончиться дракой. Well, feelings are running high now and it may end up in a fight.

разгром destruction. Все газеты вышли с заголовками: "Армия противника потерпела полный разгром." All the newspapers came out with the headline, "Destruction of Enemy Army Achieved."

разгружать (dur of разгрузить) to unload. Товарный вагон уже начали разгружать. They've already begun to unload the freight car.

разгружу See разгрузить.

разгрузить (-гружу, -грузит; pct of разгружать) to unload. Пароход ещё не разгружён. The ship isn't unloaded yet. • to relieve. Его надо хоть немного разгрузить от работы. He should be relieved of at least part of his work.

раздавать (-даю, -даёт; imv -давай; prger -давая; dur of раздать) to hand out. Идите скорее, там раздают билеты в театр. Go quickly; they're handing out theater tickets there. • to issue. Когда раздают пайки? When are they going to issue the rations?

раздавить (-давлю, -давит; pct of раздавливать) to crush. Осторожно, не раздавите этой коробки. Be careful not to crush this box.

раздавливать (dur of раздавить).

раздам See раздать.

раздать (-дам, -даст, §27; imv -дай; p раздал, раздала, раздало, -и; раздался, -далась, -лось, -лись; pct of раздавать) to hand out. Раздайте эти книжки вашим товарищам. Hand these books out to your comrades. • to give away. Он раздал все свой деньги друзьям. He gave away all his money to his friends. • to stretch. Сапоги жмут, надо их раздать на колодке. My boots pinch; they'll have to be stretched a bit.

раздача distribution.

раздевать (dur of раздеть) to undress. Раздевая раненого, санитары затеряли его документы. While they were undressing the wounded man, the medical aid men lost his papers.

-ся to take off (clothes). Здесь надо раздеваться, в зрительный зал в пальто не впускают. You have to take your coat off here. They won't let you into the auditorium with it on. — Я не раздеваюсь, я на минутку. I'm not taking my coat off, I just dropped in for a minute. • to undress. Раздевайтесь и ложитесь спать. Get undressed and go to sleep.

разделить (-делю, -делит; ppp -делённый; pct of разделять) to divide. Вот, раздели это число на пять — сколько получится? Divide this number by five. How much is it? • to distribute. Давайте разделим эту работу между всеми сотрудниками. Let's distribute this work among all our co-workers.

-ся to split. Наша экскурсия разделилась на три группы. We split our excursion into three groups. • to be divided. По этому вопросу голоса разделились. Votes were divided on this question.

разделять (dur of разделить) to divide. Перегородка разделяет нашу комнату на две части. A partition divides our room in two. • to share. Я не разделяю вашего мнения. I don't share your opinion.

-ся to be divided (into).

разденусь See раздеться.

раздеть (-дену, -нет; ppp -детый; pct of раздевать) to undress. Ребёнка надо раздеть и искупать. You have to undress the child and bathe him.

-ся to take off one's clothes. Разденьтесь, доктор вас сейчас выслушает. Take off your clothes; the doctor will examine you immediately. • to undress. Он быстро разделся, лёг и в ту же минуту заснул. He undressed quickly, lay down, and fell asleep almost immediately. □ Разденьтесь в передней. Leave your coat and hat in the hall.

раздобуду See раздобыть.

раздобывать (dur of раздобыть).

раздобыть (-буду -будет; pct of раздобывать) to get. Для этой работы нам нужно раздобыть хорошего специалиста. We've got to get a good specialist on this job. — Будь другом, раздобудь мне билет на это заседание. Be a friend and get me a ticket for this meeting.

раздолье freedom. Какое раздолье в степи! What a sense of freedom you feel on the steppes! □ Вам теперь, небось, раздолье без начальства? You must have it nice and easy without the boss being around, don't you?

раздражать (dur of раздражить) to annoy. Он меня страшно раздражает. He annoys me terribly. • to irritate. Это мыло раздражает кожу. This soap irritates the skin.

раздражение irritation.

раздражить (pct of раздражать).

раздумать (pct of раздумывать) to change one's mind. Я раздумал и не пойду с вами в кино. I changed my mind and I'm not going to the movies with you.

раздумывать (dur of раздумать) to hesitate. (no pct) Он не долго раздумывал и сразу согласился. He didn't hesitate long and agreed at once. • to think. (no pct) Нечего раздумывать, едем. What's there to think about? Let's go!

разлагать (dur of разложить).

разлив overflow. В этом году разлив начался поздно. This year the overflow of the river started late.

разливать (dur of разлить) to pour. Кто будет разливать чай? Who's going to pour the tea?

-ся to overflow, to flood.

разлить (разолью, -льёт- imv разлей; p разлил, -лила, -лило, -и; ppp разлитый, sh -лита; pct of разливать) to pour. Разлейте вино по стаканам. Pour the wine into the glasses. • to spill. Я тут разлил чернила. I spilled some ink here.

-ся to overflow. Река разлилась и залила берега. The river overflowed and flooded the shore. • to flood. Ведро опрокинулось и вода разлилась по всей комнате. The pail tipped over and the water flooded the whole room.

различать (dur of различить) to distinguish. Я плохо различаю цвета. I don't distinguish colors well. • to see. Я с трудом различаю дорогу в этой темноте. I can hardly see the road in this darkness.

различить (pct of различать).

различный various. Тут имеются различные возможности. There are various possibilities here. □ различно differently. Мы, повидимому, различно смотрим на этот вопрос. Evidently we look at this question differently. □ По различным соображениям, я предпочитаю туда не ходить. I prefer not to go there for several reasons.

разложение decay. Труп был в состоянии полного разложения. The corpse was in a state of complete decay.


text: Weird Tales/Volume 28/Issue 3/Isle of the Undead


text:
Author:Lloyd Arthur Eshbach

Works

 * Chapter 16 of Cosmos (1934)
 * Chapter 16 of Cosmos (1934)

title: Author:Lloyd Arthur Eshbach


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Page:West Kootenay Power and Light Co. Number One Hydro-Electric Development 01.jpg

 Number One

Hydro-Electric

Development

West Kootenay

Power and Light Co., Ltd.

BONNINGTON FALLS, B. C.


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314 Estella could cause me. The nature of my relations with her, which placed me on terms of familiarity without placing me on terms of favour, conduced to my distraction. She made use of me to tease other admirers, and she turned the very familiarity between herself and me, to the account of putting a constant slight on my devotion to her. If I had been her secretary, steward, half-brother, poor relation—if I had been a younger brother of her appointed husband—I could not have seemed to myself, further from my hopes when I was nearest to her. The privilege of calling her by her name and hearing her call me by mine, became under the circumstances an aggravation of my trials; and while I think it likely that it almost maddened her other lovers, I knew too certainly that it almost maddened me.

She had admirers without end. No doubt my jealousy made an admirer of every one who went near her; but there were more than enough of them without that.

I saw her often at Richmond, I heard of her often in town, and I used often to take her and the Brandleys on the water; there were picnics, fête days, plays, operas, concerts, parties, all sorts of pleasures, through which I pursued her—and they were all miseries to me. I never had one hour's happiness in her society, and yet my mind all round the four-and-twenty hours was harping on the happiness of having her with me unto death.

Throughout this part of our intercourse—and it lasted, as will presently be seen, for what I then thought a long time—she habitually reverted to that tone which expressed that our association was forced upon us. There were other times when she would come to a sudden check in this tone and in all her many tones, and would seem to pity me.

"Pip, Pip," she said one evening, coming to such a check, when we sat apart at a darkening window of the house in Richmond; "will you never take warning?"

"Of what?"

"Of me."

"Warning not to be attracted by you, do you mean, Estella?"

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Rh "Do I mean! If you don't know what I mean, you are blind."

I should have replied that Love was commonly reputed blind, but for the reason that I always was restrained—and this was not the least of my miseries—by a feeling that it was ungenerous to press myself upon her, when she knew that she could not choose but obey Miss Havisham. My dread always was, that this knowledge on her part laid me under a heavy disadvantage with her pride, and made me the subject of a rebellious struggle in her bosom.

"At any rate," said I, "I have no warning given me just now, for you wrote to me to come to you, this time."

"That's true," said Estella, with a cold careless smile that always chilled me.

After looking at the twilight without, for a little while, she went on to say:

"The time has come round when Miss Havisham wishes to have me for a day at Satis. You are to take me there, and bring me back, if you will. She would rather I did not travel alone, and objects to receiving my maid, for she has a sensitive horror of being talked of by such people. Can you take me?"

"Can I take you, Estella!"

"You can then? The day after to-morrow, if you please. You are to pay all charges out of my purse. You hear the condition of your going?"

"And must obey," said I.

This was all the preparation I received for that visit, or for others like it: Miss Havisham never wrote to me, nor had I ever so much as seen her handwriting. We went down on the next day but one, and we found her in the room where I had first beheld her, and it is needless to add that there was no change in Satis House.

She was even more dreadfully fond of Estella than she had been when I last saw them together; I repeat the word advisedly, for there was something positively dreadful in the energy of her looks and embraces. She hung upon Estella's beauty, hung upon her words, hung upon her gestures., and sat mumbling her own trembling fingers while

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316 she looked at her, as though she were devouring the beautiful creature she had reared.

From Estella she looked at me, with a searching glance that seemed to pry into my heart and probe its wounds. "How does she use you, Pip, how does she use you?" she asked me again, with her witch-like eagerness, even in Estella' s hearing. But, when we sat by her flickering fire at night, she was most weird; for then, keeping Estella's hand drawn through her arm and clutched in her own hand, she extorted from her by dint of referring back to what Estella had told her in her regular letters, the names and conditions of the men whom she had fascinated; and as Miss Havisham dwelt upon this roll, with the intensity of a mind mortally hurt and diseased, she sat with her other hand on her crutch stick, and her chin on that, and her wan bright eyes glaring at me, a very spectre.

I saw in this, wretched though it made me, and bitter the sense of dependence, even of degradation, that it awakened—I saw in this, that Estella was set to wreak Miss Havisham's revenge on men, and that she was not to be given to me until she had gratified it for a term. I saw in this, a reason for her being beforehand assigned to me. Sending her out to attract and torment and do mischief, Miss Havisham sent her with the malicious assurance that she was beyond the reach of all admirers, and that all who staked upon that cast were secured to lose. I saw in this, that I, too, was tormented by a perversion of ingenuity, even while the prize was reserved for me. I saw in this, the reason for my being staved off so long, and the reason for my late guardian's declining to commit himself to the formal knowledge of such a scheme. In a word, I saw in this, Miss Havisham as I had her then and there before my eyes, and always had had her before my eyes; and I saw in this, the distinct shadow of the darkened and unhealthy house in which her life was hidden from the sun.

The candles that lighted that room of hers were placed in sconces on the wall. They were high from the ground, and they burnt with the steady dulness of artificial light

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Rh in air that is seldom renewed. As I looked round at them, and at the pale gloom they made, and at the stopped clock, and at the withered articles of bridal dress upon the table and the ground, and at her own awful figure with its ghostly reflection thrown large by the fire upon the ceiling and the wall, I saw in everything the construction that my mind had come to, repeated and thrown back to me. My thoughts passed into the great room across the landing where the table was spread, and I saw it written, as it were, in the falls of the cobwebs from the centre-piece, in the crawlings of the spiders on the cloth, in the tracks of the mice as they betook their little quickened hearts behind the panels, and in the gropings and pausings of the beetles on the floor.

It happened on the occasion of this visit that some sharp words arose between Estella and Miss Havisham. It was the first time I had ever seen them opposed.

We were seated by the fire, as just now described, and Miss Havisham still had Estella's arm drawn through her own, and still clutched Estella's hand in hers, when Estella gradually began to detach herself. She had shown a proud impatience more than once before, and had rather endured that fierce affection than accepted or returned it.

"What!" said Miss Havisham, flashing her eyes upon her, "are you tired of me?"

"Only a little tired of myself," replied Estella, disengaging her arm, and moving to the great chimney-piece, where she stood looking down at the fire.

"Speak the truth, you ingrate!" cried Miss Havisham, passionately striking her stick upon the floor; "you are tired of me."

Estella looked at her with perfect composure, and again looked down at the fire. Her graceful figure and her beautiful face expressed a self-possessed indifference to the wild heat of the other, that was almost cruel.

"You stock and stone!" exclaimed Miss Havisham. "You cold, cold heart!"

"What!" said Estella, preserving her attitude of indifference as she leaned against the great chimney-piece and

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318 only moving her eyes; "do you reproach me for being cold? You?"

"Are you not?" was the fierce retort.

"You should know," said Estella. "I am what you have made me. Take all the praise, take all the blame; take all the success, take all the failure; in short, take me."

"O, look at her, look at her!" cried Miss Havisham, bitterly; "look at her, so hard and thankless, on the hearth where she was reared! Where I took her into this wretched breast when it was first bleeding from its stabs, and where I have lavished years of tenderness upon her!"

"At least I was no party to the compact," said Estella, "for if I could walk and speak, when it was made, it was as much as I could do. But what would you have? You have been very good to me, and I owe everything to you. What would you have?"

"Love," replied the other.

"You have it."

"I have not," said Miss Havisham.

"Mother by adoption," retorted Estella, never departing from the easy grace of her attitude, never raising her voice as the other did, never yielding either to anger or tenderness, "Mother by adoption, I have said that I owe everything to you. All I possess is freely yours. All that you have given me, is at your command to have again. Beyond that, I have nothing. And if you ask me to give you what you never gave me, my gratitude and duty cannot do impossibilities."

"Did I never give her love!" cried Miss Havisham, turning wildly to me. "Did I never give her a burning love, inseparable from jealousy at all times, and from sharp pain, while she speaks thus to me! Let her call me mad, let her call me mad!"

"Why should I call you mad," returned Estella, "I, of all people? Does any one live, who knows what set purposes you have, half as well as I do? Does any one live, who knows what a steady memory you have, half as well as I do? I who have sat on this same hearth on the little stool that is even now beside you there, learning your

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Rh and looking up into your face, when your face was strange and frightened me!"

"Soon forgotten!" moaned Miss Havisham. "Times soon forgotten!"

"No, not forgotten," retorted Estella. "Not forgotten, but treasured up in my memory. When have you found me false to your teaching? When have you found me unmindful of your lessons? When have you found me giving admission here," she touched her bosom with her hand, "to anything that you excluded? Be just to me."

"So proud, so proud!" moaned Miss Havisham, pushing away her grey hair with both her hands.

"Who taught me to be proud?" returned Estella. "Who praised me when I learnt my lesson?"

"So hard, so hard!" moaned Miss Havisham, with her former action.

"Who taught me to be hard?" returned Estella. "Who praised me when I learnt my lesson?"

"But to be proud and hard to me!" Miss Havisham quite shrieked, as she stretched out her arms. "Estella, Estella, Estella, to be proud and hard to me!"

Estella looked at her for a moment with a kind of calm wonder, but was not otherwise disturbed; when the moment was past, she looked down at the fire again.

"I cannot think," said Estella, raising her eyes after a silence, "why you should be so unreasonable when I come to see you after a separation. I have never forgotten your wrongs and their causes. I have never been unfaithful to you or your schooling. I have never shown any weakness that I can charge myself with."

"Would it be weakness to return my love?" exclaimed Miss Havisham. "But yes, yes, she would call it so!"

"I begin to think," said Estella, in a musing way, after another moment of calm wonder, "that I almost understand how this comes about. If you had brought up your adopted daughter wholly in the dark confinement of these rooms, and had never let her know that there was such a thing as the daylight by which she has never once seen your face—if you had done that, and then, for a purpose,

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320 had wanted her to understand the daylight and know all about it, you would have been disappointed and angry?"

Miss Havisham, with her head in her hands, sat making a low moaning, and swaying herself on her chair, but gave no answer.

"Or," said Estella, "—which is a nearer case—if you had taught her, from the dawn of her intelligence, with your utmost energy and might, that there was such a thing as daylight, but that it was made to be her enemy and destroyer, and she must always turn against it, for it had blighted you and would else blight her;—if you had done this, and then, for a purpose, had wanted her to take naturally to the daylight and she could not do it, you would have been disappointed and angry?"

Miss Havisham sat listening (or it seemed so, for I could not see her face), but still made no answer.

"So," said Estella, "I must be taken as I have been made. The success is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me."

Miss Havisham had settled down, I hardly knew how, upon the floor, among the faded bridal relics with which it was strewn. I took advantage of the moment—I had sought one from the first—to leave the room, after beseeching Estella's attention to her with a movement of my hand. When I left, Estella was yet standing by the great chimney-piece, just as she had stood throughout. Miss Havisham's grey hair was all adrift upon the ground, among the other bridal wrecks, and was a miserable sight to see.

It was with a depressed heart that I walked in the starlight for an hour and more, about the courtyard, and about the brewery, and about the ruined garden. When I at last took courage to return to the room, I found Estella sitting at Miss Havisham's knee, taking up some stitches in one of those old articles of dress that were dropping to pieces, and of which I have often been reminded since by the faded tatters of old banners that I have seen hanging up in cathedrals. Afterwards, Estella and I played at cards, as of yore—only we were skilful now, and played French

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Rh games—and so the evening wore away, and I went to bed. I lay in that separate building across the courtyard. It was the first time I had ever lain down to rest in Satis House, and sleep refused to come near me. A thousand Miss Havishams haunted me. She was on this side of my pillow, on that, at the head of the bed, at the foot, behind the half-opened door of the dressing-room, in the dressing-room, in the room overhead, in the room beneath—everywhere. At last, when the night was slow to creep on towards two o'clock, I felt that I absolutely could no longer bear the place as a place to lie down in, and that I must get up. I therefore got up and put on my clothes, and went out across the yard into the long stone passage, designing to gain the outer courtyard and walk there for the relief of my mind. But, I was no sooner in the passage than I extinguished my candle; for, I saw Miss Havisham going along it in a ghostly manner, making a low cry. I followed her at a distance, and saw her go up the staircase. She carried a bare candle in her hand, which she had probably taken from one of the sconces in her own room, and was a most unearthly object by its light. Standing at the bottom of the staircase, I felt the mildewed air of the feast chamber, without seeing her open the door, and I heard her walking there, and so across into her own room, and so across again into that, never ceasing the low cry. After a time, I tried in the dark both to get out and to go back, but I could do neither until some streaks of day strayed in and showed me where to lay my hands. During the whole interval, whenever I went to the bottom of the staircase, I heard her footstep, saw her candle pass above, and heard her ceaseless low cry.

Before we left next day, there was no revival of the difference between her and Estella, nor was it ever revived on any similar occasion; and there were four similar occasions, to the best of my remembrance. Nor, did Miss Havisham's manner towards Estella in anywise change, except that I believed it to have something like fear infused among its former characteristics.

It is impossible to turn this leaf of my life without

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322 Bentley Drummle's name upon it; or I would, very gladly.

On a certain occasion when the Finches were assembled in force, and when good feeling was being promoted in the usual manner by nobody's agreeing with anybody else, the presiding Finch called the Grove to order, forasmuch as Mr. Drummle had not yet toasted a lady; which, according to the solemn constitution of the society, it was the brute's turn to do that day. I thought I saw him leer in an ugly way at me while the decanters were going round, but as there was no love lost between us, that might easily be. What was my indignant surprise when he called upon the company to pledge him to "Estella!"

"Estella who?" said I.

"Never you mind," retorted Drummle.

"Estella of where?" said I. "You are bound to say of where." Which he was, as a Finch.

"Of Richmond, gentlemen," said Drummle, putting me out of the question, "and a peerless beauty."

Much he knew about peerless beauties, a mean miserable idiot! I whispered Herbert.

"I know that lady," said Herbert, across the table, when the toast had been honoured.

"Do you?" said Drummle.

"And so do I," I added with a scarlet face.

"Do you?" said Drummle. "Oh, Lord!"

This was the only retort—except glass or crockery—that the heavy creature was capable of making; but, I became as highly incensed by it as if it had been barbed with wit, and I immediately rose in my place and said that I could not but regard it as being like the honourable Finch's impudence to come down to that Grove—we always talked about coming down to that Grove, as a neat Parliamentary turn of expression—down to that Grove, proposing a lady of whom he knew nothing. Mr. Drummle upon this, starting up, demanded what I meant by that? Whereupon, I made him the extreme reply that I believed he knew where I was to be found.

Whether it was possible in a Christian country to get on

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