"I awoke,and instantly there flashed through my mind the thought of the kerchief the woman had left behind her,and I started from my chair to hide it.But the table was already laid for breakfast,and my wife sat with her elbows on the table and her head between her hands,watching me with a look in her eyes that was new to me.
"She kissed me,though her lips were cold;and I argued to myself that the whole thing must have been a dream.But later in the day,passing the open door when her back was towards me,I saw her take the kerchief from a locked chest and look at it.
"I have told myself it must have been a kerchief of her own,and that all the rest has been my imagination;that,if not,then my strange visitant was no spirit,but a woman;and that,if human thing knows human thing,it was no creature of flesh and blood that sat beside me last night.Besides,what woman would she be?The nearest saeter is a three-hours'climb to a strong man,and the paths are dangerous even in daylight:what woman would have found them in the night?
What woman would have chilled the air around her,and have made the blood flow cold through all my veins?Yet if she come again I will speak to her.I will stretch out my hand and see whether she be mortal thing or only air."The fifth letter:
"MY DEAR JOYCE,--Whether your eyes will ever see these letters is doubtful.From this place I shall never send them.They would read to you as the ravings of a madman.If ever I return to England I may one day show them to you,but when I do it will be when I,with you,can laugh over them.At present I write them merely to hide away,--putting the words down on paper saves my screaming them aloud.
"She comes each night now,taking the same seat beside the embers,and fixing upon me those eyes,with the hell-light in them,that burn into my brain;and at rare times she smiles,and all my being passes out of me,and is hers.I make no attempt to work.I sit listening for her footsteps on the creaking bridge,for the rustling of her feet upon the grass,for the tapping of her hand upon the door.No word is uttered between us.Each day I say:'When she comes to-night I will speak to her.I will stretch out my hand and touch her.'Yet when she enters,all thought and will goes out from me.
"Last night,as I stood gazing at her,my soul filled with her wondrous beauty as a lake with moonlight,her lips parted,and she started from her chair;and,turning,I thought I saw a white face pressed against the window,but as I looked it vanished.Then she drew her cloak about her,and passed out.I slid back the bolt Ialways draw now,and stole into the other room,and,taking down the lantern,held it above the bed.But Muriel's eyes were closed as if in sleep."Extract from the sixth letter:
"It is not the night I fear,but the day.I hate the sight of this woman with whom I live,whom I call 'wife.'I shrink from the blow of her cold lips,the curse of her stony eyes.She has seen,she has learnt;I feel it,I know it.Yet she winds her arms around my neck,and calls me sweetheart,and smoothes my hair with her soft,false hands.We speak mocking words of love to one another,but I know her cruel eyes are ever following me.She is plotting her revenge,and Ihate her,I hate her,I hate her!"
Part of the seventh letter:
"This morning I went down to the fiord.I told her I should not be back until the evening.She stood by the door watching me until we were mere specks to one another,and a promontory of the mountain shut me from view.Then,turning aside from the track,I made my way,running and stumbling over the jagged ground,round to the other side of the mountain,and began to climb again.It was slow,weary work.Often I had to go miles out of my road to avoid a ravine,and twice I reached a high point only to have to descend again.But at length I crossed the ridge,and crept down to a spot from where,concealed,I could spy upon my own house.She--my wife--stood by the flimsy bridge.A short hatchet,such as butchers use,was in her hand.She leant against a pine trunk,with her arm behind her,as one stands whose back aches with long stooping in some cramped position;and even at that distance I could see the cruel smile about her lips.
