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Title:TheTurnoftheScrew

Author:HenryJames

ReleaseDate:July12,2008[EBook#209]

LastUpdated:October23,2018

Language:English

***STARTOFTHISPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKTHETURNOFTHESCREW***

ProducedbyJudithBoss,andDavidWidger

The Turn o f t he Sc rew

byHenryJames

ContentsTHETURNOFTHESCREWIIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXXIXIIXIIIXIVXVXVIXVIIXVIIIXIXXXXXIXXIIXXIIIXXIV

THETURNOFTHESCREWThe story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the

obvious remark that itwasgruesome,as,onChristmasEve inanoldhouse,astrangetaleshouldessentiallybe,Iremembernocommentutteredtillsomebodyhappenedtosaythatitwastheonlycasehehadmetinwhichsuchavisitationhadfallenonachild.Thecase,Imaymention,wasthatofanapparitioninjustsuch an old house as had gathered us for the occasion—an appearance, of adreadfulkind, toa littleboysleeping in the roomwithhismotherandwakingherupintheterrorofit;wakinghernottodissipatehisdreadandsoothehimtosleepagain,buttoencounteralso,herself,beforeshehadsucceededindoingso,the same sight that had shaken him. It was this observation that drew fromDouglas—not immediately, but later in the evening—a reply that had theinterestingconsequencetowhichIcallattention.Someoneelsetoldastorynotparticularlyeffective,whichIsawhewasnotfollowing.ThisI tookforasignthathehadhimselfsomethingtoproduceandthatweshouldonlyhavetowait.We waited in fact till two nights later; but that same evening, before wescattered,hebroughtoutwhatwasinhismind.“I quite agree—in regard to Griffin’s ghost, or whatever it was—that its

appearingfirsttothelittleboy,atsotenderanage,addsaparticulartouch.Butit’snotthefirstoccurrenceofitscharmingkindthatIknowtohaveinvolvedachild.Ifthechildgivestheeffectanotherturnofthescrew,whatdoyousaytotwochildren—?”“Wesay,ofcourse,”somebodyexclaimed,“thattheygivetwoturns!Alsothat

wewanttohearaboutthem.”IcanseeDouglastherebeforethefire,towhichhehadgotuptopresenthis

back, lookingdownathis interlocutorwithhishands inhispockets.“Nobodybut me, till now, has ever heard. It’s quite too horrible.” This, naturally, wasdeclaredbyseveralvoicestogivethethingtheutmostprice,andourfriend,withquietart,preparedhistriumphbyturninghiseyesovertherestofusandgoingon:“It’sbeyondeverything.NothingatallthatIknowtouchesit.”“Forsheerterror?”Irememberasking.Heseemed to say itwasnot sosimpleas that; tobe reallyata losshow to

qualifyit.Hepassedhishandoverhiseyes,madealittlewincinggrimace.“For

dreadful—dreadfulness!”“Oh,howdelicious!”criedoneofthewomen.He tooknonoticeofher;he lookedatme,but as if, insteadofme,he saw

whathespokeof.“Forgeneraluncannyuglinessandhorrorandpain.”“Wellthen,”Isaid,“justsitrightdownandbegin.”Heturnedroundtothefire,gaveakicktoalog,watcheditaninstant.Thenas

he faced us again: “I can’t begin. I shall have to send to town.” Therewas aunanimous groan at this, andmuch reproach; after which, in his preoccupiedway,heexplained.“Thestory’swritten.It’sinalockeddrawer—ithasnotbeenoutforyears.Icouldwritetomymanandenclosethekey;hecouldsenddownthepacketashefindsit.”Itwastomeinparticularthatheappearedtopropoundthis—appeared almost to appeal for aid not to hesitate. He had broken athicknessofice,theformationofmanyawinter;hadhadhisreasonsforalongsilence. The others resented postponement, but it was just his scruples thatcharmedme.Iadjuredhimtowritebythefirstpostandtoagreewithusforanearlyhearing;thenIaskedhimiftheexperienceinquestionhadbeenhisown.Tothishisanswerwasprompt.“Oh,thankGod,no!”“Andistherecordyours?Youtookthethingdown?”“Nothing but the impression. I took that here”—he tapped his heart. “I’ve

neverlostit.”“Thenyourmanuscript—?”“Isinold,fadedink,andinthemostbeautifulhand.”Hehungfireagain.“A

woman’s. She has been dead these twenty years. She sent me the pages inquestionbeforeshedied.”Theywerealllisteningnow,andofcoursetherewassomebody to be arch, or at any rate to draw the inference. But if he put theinference by without a smile it was also without irritation. “She was a mostcharming person, but she was ten years older than I. She was my sister’sgoverness,” he quietly said. “She was the most agreeable woman I’ve everknowninherposition;shewouldhavebeenworthyofanywhatever.Itwaslongago,andthisepisodewaslongbefore.IwasatTrinity,andIfoundherathomeonmycomingdownthesecondsummer.Iwasmuchtherethatyear—itwasabeautifulone;andwehad,inheroff-hours,somestrollsandtalksinthegarden—talksinwhichshestruckmeasawfullycleverandnice.Ohyes;don’tgrin:Ilikedher extremely and amglad to this day to think she likedme, too. If shehadn’tshewouldn’thavetoldme.Shehadnevertoldanyone.Itwasn’tsimplythatshesaidso,butthatIknewshehadn’t.Iwassure;Icouldsee.You’lleasilyjudgewhywhenyouhear.”

“Becausethethinghadbeensuchascare?”Hecontinuedtofixme.“You’lleasilyjudge,”herepeated:“youwill.”Ifixedhim,too.“Isee.Shewasinlove.”Helaughedforthefirsttime.“Youareacute.Yes,shewasinlove.Thatis,she

hadbeen.Thatcameout—shecouldn’t tellherstorywithout itscomingout. Isawit,andshesawIsawit;butneitherofusspokeofit.Irememberthetimeand the place—the corner of the lawn, the shade of the great beeches and thelong, hot summer afternoon. It wasn’t a scene for a shudder; but oh—!” Hequittedthefireanddroppedbackintohischair.“You’llreceivethepacketThursdaymorning?”Iinquired.“Probablynottillthesecondpost.”“Wellthen;afterdinner—”“You’llallmeetmehere?”Helookedusroundagain.“Isn’tanybodygoing?”

Itwasalmostthetoneofhope.“Everybodywillstay!”“Iwill”—and“Iwill!”criedtheladieswhosedeparturehadbeenfixed.Mrs.

Griffin,however,expressedtheneedforalittlemorelight.“Whowasitshewasinlovewith?”“Thestorywilltell,”Itookuponmyselftoreply.“Oh,Ican’twaitforthestory!”“Thestorywon’ttell,”saidDouglas;“notinanyliteral,vulgarway.”“More’sthepity,then.That’stheonlywayIeverunderstand.”“Won’tyoutell,Douglas?”somebodyelseinquired.He sprang tohis feet again. “Yes—tomorrow.Now Imust go tobed.Good

night.” And quickly catching up a candlestick, he left us slightly bewildered.Fromourendofthegreatbrownhallweheardhissteponthestair;whereuponMrs.Griffinspoke.“Well,ifIdon’tknowwhoshewasinlovewith,Iknowwhohewas.”“Shewastenyearsolder,”saidherhusband.“Raisondeplus—atthatage!Butit’srathernice,hislongreticence.”“Fortyyears!”Griffinputin.“Withthisoutbreakatlast.”“The outbreak,” I returned, “willmake a tremendous occasion of Thursday

night;” and everyone so agreed with me that, in the light of it, we lost all

attention for everything else. The last story, however incomplete and like themere opening of a serial, had been told;we handshook and “candlestuck,” assomebodysaid,andwenttobed.Iknewthenextdaythatalettercontainingthekeyhad,bythefirstpost,gone

offtohisLondonapartments;butinspiteof—orperhapsjustonaccountof—theeventualdiffusionofthisknowledgewequitelethimalonetillafterdinner,tillsuch an hour of the evening, in fact, as might best accord with the kind ofemotiononwhichourhopeswerefixed.Thenhebecameascommunicativeaswecoulddesireandindeedgaveushisbestreasonforbeingso.Wehaditfromhim again before the fire in the hall, aswe had had ourmildwonders of thepreviousnight. Itappearedthat thenarrativehehadpromisedtoreadusreallyrequired for a proper intelligence a few words of prologue. Let me say heredistinctly,tohavedonewithit,thatthisnarrative,fromanexacttranscriptofmyownmademuch later, iswhat I shallpresentlygive.PoorDouglas,beforehisdeath—whenitwasinsight—committedtomethemanuscriptthatreachedhimon the thirdof thesedaysand that,on the samespot,with immenseeffect,hebegantoreadtoourhushedlittlecircleonthenightofthefourth.Thedepartingladieswhohadsaidtheywouldstaydidn’t,ofcourse,thankheaven,stay:theydeparted, inconsequenceofarrangementsmade, ina rageofcuriosity,as theyprofessed,producedbythetoucheswithwhichhehadalreadyworkedusup.Butthatonlymadehis little finalauditorymorecompactandselect,kept it, roundthehearth,subjecttoacommonthrill.Thefirstofthesetouchesconveyedthatthewrittenstatementtookupthetale

atapointafter ithad, inamanner,begun.Thefact tobe inpossessionofwasthereforethathisoldfriend,theyoungestofseveraldaughtersofapoorcountryparson, had, at the age of twenty, on taking service for the first time in theschoolroom, come up to London, in trepidation, to answer in person anadvertisement that had already placed her in brief correspondence with theadvertiser. This person proved, on her presenting herself, for judgment, at ahouse in Harley Street, that impressed her as vast and imposing—thisprospectivepatronprovedagentleman, abachelor in theprimeof life, suchafigure as had never risen, save in a dreamor an old novel, before a fluttered,anxiousgirloutofaHampshirevicarage.Onecouldeasilyfixhistype;itnever,happily,diesout.Hewashandsomeandboldandpleasant,off-handandgayandkind.Hestruckher,inevitably,asgallantandsplendid,butwhattookhermostofall and gave her the courage she afterward showedwas that he put thewholething to her as a kind of favor, an obligation he should gratefully incur. Sheconceivedhimas rich, but as fearfully extravagant—sawhimall in a glowof

highfashion,ofgoodlooks,ofexpensivehabits,ofcharmingwayswithwomen.Hehadforhisowntownresidenceabighousefilledwiththespoilsoftravelandthetrophiesofthechase;butitwastohiscountryhome,anoldfamilyplaceinEssex,thathewishedherimmediatelytoproceed.Hehadbeen left, by thedeathof theirparents in India,guardian to a small

nephewanda smallniece, childrenof ayounger, amilitarybrother,whomhehadlosttwoyearsbefore.Thesechildrenwere,bythestrangestofchancesforamaninhisposition—alonemanwithouttherightsortofexperienceoragrainofpatience—veryheavilyonhishands.Ithadallbeenagreatworryand,onhisownpartdoubtless,aseriesofblunders,butheimmenselypitiedthepoorchicksandhaddoneallhecould;hadinparticularsentthemdowntohisotherhouse,theproperplaceforthembeingofcoursethecountry,andkeptthemthere,fromthefirst,withthebestpeoplehecouldfindtolookafterthem,partingevenwithhisownservantstowaitonthemandgoingdownhimself,wheneverhemight,toseehowtheyweredoing.Theawkwardthingwasthattheyhadpracticallynootherrelationsandthathisownaffairstookupallhistime.HehadputtheminpossessionofBly,whichwashealthyandsecure,andhadplacedattheheadoftheir little establishment—but below stairs only—an excellent woman, Mrs.Grose, whom he was sure his visitor would like and who had formerly beenmaidtohismother.Shewasnowhousekeeperandwasalsoactingforthetimeas superintendent to the little girl, ofwhom,without children of her own, shewas,bygoodluck,extremelyfond.Therewereplentyofpeopletohelp,butofcoursetheyoungladywhoshouldgodownasgovernesswouldbeinsupremeauthority.Shewouldalsohave,inholidays,tolookafterthesmallboy,whohadbeenfora termatschool—youngashewastobesent,butwhatelsecouldbedone?—andwho,astheholidayswereabouttobegin,wouldbebackfromonedaytotheother.Therehadbeenforthetwochildrenatfirstayoungladywhomtheyhadhadthemisfortunetolose.Shehaddoneforthemquitebeautifully—she was a most respectable person—till her death, the great awkwardness ofwhich had, precisely, left no alternative but the school for little Miles. Mrs.Grose,sincethen,inthewayofmannersandthings,haddoneasshecouldforFlora;andtherewere,further,acook,ahousemaid,adairywoman,anoldpony,anoldgroom,andanoldgardener,alllikewisethoroughlyrespectable.SofarhadDouglaspresentedhispicturewhensomeoneputaquestion.“And

whatdidtheformergovernessdieof?—ofsomuchrespectability?”Ourfriend’sanswerwasprompt.“Thatwillcomeout.Idon’tanticipate.”“Excuseme—Ithoughtthatwasjustwhatyouaredoing.”“Inhersuccessor’splace,”Isuggested,“Ishouldhavewishedtolearnifthe

officebroughtwithit—”“Necessarydangertolife?”Douglascompletedmythought.“Shedidwishto

learn,andshedidlearn.Youshallheartomorrowwhatshelearned.Meanwhile,of course, the prospect struck her as slightly grim. She was young, untried,nervous: it was a vision of serious duties and little company, of really greatloneliness.Shehesitated—tookacoupleofdaystoconsultandconsider.Butthesalaryofferedmuch exceededhermodestmeasure, andon a second interviewshefacedthemusic,sheengaged.”AndDouglas,withthis,madeapausethat,forthebenefitofthecompany,movedmetothrowin—“Themoral ofwhichwasof course the seduction exercisedby the splendid

youngman.Shesuccumbedtoit.”Hegotupand,ashehaddonethenightbefore,wenttothefire,gaveastirto

alogwithhisfoot,thenstoodamomentwithhisbacktous.“Shesawhimonlytwice.”“Yes,butthat’sjustthebeautyofherpassion.”Alittletomysurprise,onthis,Douglasturnedroundtome.“Itwasthebeauty

of it. There were others,” he went on, “who hadn’t succumbed. He told herfrankly all his difficulty—that for several applicants the conditions had beenprohibitive. They were, somehow, simply afraid. It sounded dull—it soundedstrange;andallthemoresobecauseofhismaincondition.”“Whichwas—?”“That she should never trouble him—but never, never: neither appeal nor

complainnorwrite about anything;onlymeet all questionsherself, receive allmoneys from his solicitor, take the whole thing over and let him alone. Shepromised to do this, and she mentioned to me that when, for a moment,disburdened, delighted, he held her hand, thanking her for the sacrifice, shealreadyfeltrewarded.”“Butwasthatallherreward?”oneoftheladiesasked.“Sheneversawhimagain.”“Oh!”said the lady;which,asour friend immediately leftusagain,was the

onlyotherwordofimportancecontributedtothesubjecttill,thenextnight,bythecornerofthehearth,inthebestchair,heopenedthefadedredcoverofathinold-fashionedgilt-edgedalbum.Thewhole thing tookindeedmorenights thanone,butonthefirstoccasionthesameladyputanotherquestion.“Whatisyourtitle?”“Ihaven’tone.”

“Oh,Ihave!”Isaid.ButDouglas,withoutheedingme,hadbeguntoreadwithafineclearnessthatwaslikearenderingtotheearofthebeautyofhisauthor’shand.

IIrememberthewholebeginningasasuccessionofflightsanddrops,alittle

seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town, to meet hisappeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days—foundmyself doubtfulagain, felt indeed sure I hadmade amistake. In this state ofmind I spent thelonghoursofbumping,swingingcoachthatcarriedmetothestoppingplaceatwhichIwastobemetbyavehiclefromthehouse.Thisconvenience,Iwastold,had been ordered, and I found, toward the close of the June afternoon, acommodiousflyinwaitingforme.Drivingatthathour,onalovelyday,througha country to which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendlywelcome, my fortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue,encounteredareprievethatwasprobablybutaproofofthepointtowhichithadsunk. I suppose Ihadexpected,orhaddreaded, somethingsomelancholy thatwhatgreetedmewasagoodsurprise.Irememberasamostpleasantimpressionthebroad,clearfront,itsopenwindowsandfreshcurtainsandthepairofmaidslookingout;Irememberthelawnandthebrightflowersandthecrunchofmywheelsonthegravelandtheclusteredtreetopsoverwhichtherookscircledandcawedinthegoldensky.Thescenehadagreatnessthatmadeitadifferentaffairfrommyownscanthome, and there immediatelyappearedat thedoor,withalittlegirl inherhand,acivilpersonwhodroppedmeasdecentacurtsyas ifIhadbeenthemistressoradistinguishedvisitor.IhadreceivedinHarleyStreetanarrower notion of the place, and that, as I recalled it, made me think theproprietorstillmoreofagentleman,suggestedthatwhatIwastoenjoymightbesomethingbeyondhispromise.Ihadnodropagain till thenextday, for Iwascarried triumphantly through

thefollowinghoursbymyintroduction to theyoungerofmypupils.The littlegirl who accompanied Mrs. Grose appeared to me on the spot a creature socharmingastomakeitagreatfortunetohavetodowithher.ShewasthemostbeautifulchildIhadeverseen,andIafterwardwonderedthatmyemployerhadnottoldmemoreofher.Isleptlittlethatnight—Iwastoomuchexcited;andthisastonishedme, too, I recollect, remainedwithme, adding tomy sense of theliberalitywithwhichIwastreated.Thelarge,impressiveroom,oneofthebestinthehouse,thegreatstatebed,asIalmostfeltit,thefull,figureddraperies,thelongglassesinwhich,forthefirsttime,Icouldseemyselffromheadtofoot,all

struckme—liketheextraordinarycharmofmysmallcharge—assomanythingsthrownin.Itwasthrowninaswell,fromthefirstmoment,thatIshouldgetonwithMrs.Groseinarelationoverwhich,onmyway,inthecoach,IfearIhadratherbrooded.Theonlythingindeedthatinthisearlyoutlookmighthavemademe shrink againwas the clear circumstance of her being so glad to seeme. Iperceivedwithinhalfanhourthatshewassoglad—stout,simple,plain,clean,wholesome woman—as to be positively on her guard against showing it toomuch.Iwonderedeventhenalittlewhysheshouldwishnottoshowit,andthat,withreflection,withsuspicion,mightofcoursehavemademeuneasy.But itwasacomfort that therecouldbenouneasiness inaconnectionwith

anything sobeatific as the radiant imageofmy little girl, thevisionofwhoseangelicbeautyhadprobablymorethananythingelsetodowiththerestlessnessthat,beforemorning,mademeseveraltimesriseandwanderaboutmyroomtotake in thewhole picture and prospect; to watch, frommy openwindow, thefaintsummerdawn,tolookatsuchportionsoftherestofthehouseasIcouldcatch,andtolisten,while,inthefadingdusk,thefirstbirdsbegantotwitter,forthe possible recurrence of a sound or two, less natural and not without, butwithin, thatIhadfanciedIheard.TherehadbeenamomentwhenIbelievedIrecognized,faintandfar,thecryofachild;therehadbeenanotherwhenIfoundmyself just consciously starting as at the passage, before my door, of a lightfootstep.Butthesefancieswerenotmarkedenoughnottobethrownoff,anditisonly in the light,or thegloom, I should rather say,ofotherand subsequentmatters that they now come back to me. To watch, teach, “form” little Florawouldtooevidentlybethemakingofahappyandusefullife.IthadbeenagreedbetweenusdownstairsthatafterthisfirstoccasionIshouldhaveherasamatterofcourseatnight,hersmallwhitebedbeingalreadyarranged,tothatend,inmyroom.WhatIhadundertakenwasthewholecareofher,andshehadremained,justthislasttime,withMrs.Groseonlyasaneffectofourconsiderationformyinevitablestrangenessandhernatural timidity. Inspiteof this timidity—whichthechildherself, in theoddestway in theworld,hadbeenperfectly frankandbraveabout,allowingit,withoutasignofuncomfortableconsciousness,withthedeep,sweetserenityindeedofoneofRaphael’sholyinfants,tobediscussed,tobe imputed to her, and to determineus—I feel quite sure shewouldpresentlylikeme.ItwaspartofwhatIalreadylikedMrs.Groseherselffor,thepleasureIcouldseeherfeelinmyadmirationandwonderasIsatatsupperwithfourtallcandlesandwithmypupil,inahighchairandabib,brightlyfacingme,betweenthem,overbreadandmilk.TherewerenaturallythingsthatinFlora’spresencecould pass between us only as prodigious and gratified looks, obscure and

roundaboutallusions.“Andthelittleboy—doeshelooklikeher?Ishetoosoveryremarkable?”Onewouldn’tflatterachild.“Oh,miss,mostremarkable.Ifyouthinkwellof

this one!”—and she stood there with a plate in her hand, beaming at ourcompanion,who lookedfromoneofus to theotherwithplacidheavenlyeyesthatcontainednothingtocheckus.“Yes;ifIdo—?”“Youwillbecarriedawaybythelittlegentleman!”“Well, that, I think, is what I came for—to be carried away. I’m afraid,

however,” I remember feeling the impulse to add, “I’m rather easily carriedaway.IwascarriedawayinLondon!”IcanstillseeMrs.Grose’sbroadfaceasshetookthisin.“InHarleyStreet?”“InHarleyStreet.”“Well,miss,you’renotthefirst—andyouwon’tbethelast.”“Oh, I’ve no pretension,” I could laugh, “to being the only one.My other

pupil,atanyrate,asIunderstand,comesbacktomorrow?”“Not tomorrow—Friday, miss. He arrives, as you did, by the coach, under

careoftheguard,andistobemetbythesamecarriage.”Iforthwithexpressedthattheproperaswellasthepleasantandfriendlything

wouldbe therefore thaton thearrivalof thepublicconveyance I shouldbe inwaitingforhimwithhislittlesister;anideainwhichMrs.GroseconcurredsoheartilythatIsomehowtookhermannerasakindofcomfortingpledge—neverfalsified,thankheaven!—thatweshouldoneveryquestionbequiteatone.Oh,shewasgladIwasthere!WhatIfeltthenextdaywas,Isuppose,nothingthatcouldbefairlycalleda

reactionfromthecheerofmyarrival;itwasprobablyatthemostonlyaslightoppressionproducedbya fullermeasureof thescale,as Iwalkedround them,gazedupatthem,tookthemin,ofmynewcircumstances.Theyhad,asitwere,an extent andmass forwhich I had not been prepared and in the presence ofwhichIfoundmyself,freshly,alittlescaredaswellasalittleproud.Lessons,inthisagitation,certainlysufferedsomedelay; I reflected thatmyfirstdutywas,bythegentlestartsIcouldcontrive,towinthechildintothesenseofknowingme. I spent the day with her out-of-doors; I arranged with her, to her greatsatisfaction,thatitshouldbeshe,sheonly,whomightshowmetheplace.Sheshowed it step by step and room by room and secret by secret, with droll,delightful, childish talk about it and with the result, in half an hour, of our

becomingimmensefriends.Youngasshewas,Iwasstruck,throughoutourlittletour,withherconfidenceandcouragewiththeway,inemptychambersanddullcorridors,oncrookedstaircasesthatmademepauseandevenonthesummitofanoldmachicolatedsquare tower thatmademedizzy,hermorningmusic,herdispositiontotellmesomanymorethingsthansheasked,rangoutandledmeon.IhavenotseenBlysincethedayIleftit,andIdaresaythattomyolderandmoreinformedeyesitwouldnowappearsufficientlycontracted.Butasmylittleconductress,withherhairofgoldandherfrockofblue,dancedbeforemeroundcorners and pattered down passages, I had the view of a castle of romanceinhabitedbyarosysprite,suchaplaceaswouldsomehow,fordiversionoftheyoung idea, take all color out of storybooks and fairytales. Wasn’t it just astorybook overwhich I had fallen adoze and adream?No; itwas a big, ugly,antique,butconvenienthouse,embodyingafewfeaturesofabuildingstillolder,half-replacedandhalf-utilized,inwhichIhadthefancyofourbeingalmostaslostasahandfulofpassengersinagreatdriftingship.Well,Iwas,strangely,atthehelm!

IIThiscamehometomewhen,twodayslater,IdroveoverwithFloratomeet,

asMrs.Grose said, the little gentleman; and all themore for an incident that,presentingitselfthesecondevening,haddeeplydisconcertedme.Thefirstdayhadbeen,onthewhole,asIhaveexpressed,reassuring;butIwastoseeitwindupinkeenapprehension.Thepostbag,thatevening—itcamelate—containedaletter for me, which, however, in the hand of my employer, I found to becomposed but of a fewwords enclosing another, addressed to himself,with aseal still unbroken. “This, I recognize, is from the headmaster, and theheadmaster’s an awful bore. Read him, please; deal with him; but mind youdon’treport.Notaword.I’moff!”Ibrokethesealwithagreateffort—sogreataonethatIwasalongtimecomingtoit;tooktheunopenedmissiveatlastuptomyroomandonlyattacked it justbeforegoing tobed. Ihadbetterhave let itwait tillmorning, for it gaveme a second sleepless night.With no counsel totake,thenextday,Iwasfullofdistress;anditfinallygotsothebetterofmethatIdeterminedtoopenmyselfatleasttoMrs.Grose.“Whatdoesitmean?Thechild’sdismissedhisschool.”ShegavemealookthatIremarkedatthemoment;then,visibly,withaquick

blankness,seemedtotrytotakeitback.“Butaren’ttheyall—?”“Senthome—yes.Butonlyfortheholidays.Milesmaynevergobackatall.”Consciously,undermyattention,shereddened.“Theywon’ttakehim?”“Theyabsolutelydecline.”At this she raised her eyes,which she had turned fromme; I saw them fill

withgoodtears.“Whathashedone?”Ihesitated;thenIjudgedbestsimplytohandhermyletter—which,however,

hadtheeffectofmakingher,withouttakingit,simplyputherhandsbehindher.Sheshookherheadsadly.“Suchthingsarenotforme,miss.”Mycounselorcouldn’tread!Iwincedatmymistake,whichIattenuatedasI

could,andopenedmyletteragaintorepeatittoher;then,falteringintheactandfoldingituponcemore,Iputitbackinmypocket.“Ishereallybad?”Thetearswerestillinhereyes.“Dothegentlemensayso?”“Theygointonoparticulars.Theysimplyexpresstheirregretthatitshouldbe

impossibletokeephim.Thatcanhaveonlyonemeaning.”Mrs.Groselistenedwithdumbemotion;sheforboretoaskmewhatthismeaningmightbe;sothat,presently, to put the thingwith some coherence andwith themere aid of herpresencetomyownmind,Iwenton:“Thathe’saninjurytotheothers.”At this,withoneof thequick turnsofsimple folk, shesuddenly flamedup.

“MasterMiles!himaninjury?”Therewassuchafloodofgoodfaithinitthat,thoughIhadnotyetseenthe

child,myveryfearsmademejumptotheabsurdityoftheidea.Ifoundmyself,tomeetmyfriendthebetter,offeringit,onthespot,sarcastically.“Tohispoorlittleinnocentmates!”“It’s too dreadful,” criedMrs. Grose, “to say such cruel things!Why, he’s

scarcetenyearsold.”“Yes,yes;itwouldbeincredible.”Shewasevidentlygratefulforsuchaprofession.“Seehim,miss,first.Then

believeit!”Ifeltforthwithanewimpatiencetoseehim;itwasthebeginningofacuriositythat,forallthenexthours,wastodeepenalmosttopain.Mrs.Grosewasaware,Icouldjudge,ofwhatshehadproducedinme,andshefolloweditupwithassurance.“Youmightaswellbelieveitofthelittlelady.Blessher,”sheaddedthenextmoment—“lookather!”IturnedandsawthatFlora,whom,tenminutesbefore,Ihadestablishedinthe

schoolroomwith a sheet of white paper, a pencil, and a copy of nice “roundO’s,”nowpresentedherselftoviewattheopendoor.Sheexpressedinherlittleway an extraordinary detachment from disagreeable duties, looking to me,however,withagreatchildishlightthatseemedtoofferitasamereresultoftheaffection shehadconceived formyperson,whichhad renderednecessary thatsheshouldfollowme.Ineedednothingmore than this tofeel thefull forceofMrs.Grose’scomparison,and,catchingmypupilinmyarms,coveredherwithkissesinwhichtherewasasobofatonement.Nonetheless,therestofthedayIwatchedforfurtheroccasiontoapproachmy

colleague,especiallyas, towardevening, Ibegan to fancyshe rather sought toavoidme.Iovertookher,Iremember,onthestaircase;wewentdowntogether,andat thebottomIdetainedher,holdingher therewithahandonherarm.“Itakewhatyousaidtomeatnoonasadeclarationthatyou’veneverknownhimtobebad.”She threw back her head; she had clearly, by this time, and very honestly,

adoptedanattitude.“Oh,neverknownhim—Idon’tpretendthat!”Iwasupsetagain.“Thenyouhaveknownhim—?”

“Yesindeed,miss,thankGod!”OnreflectionIacceptedthis.“Youmeanthataboywhoneveris—?”“Isnoboyforme!”I held her tighter. “You like them with the spirit to be naughty?” Then,

keepingpacewithheranswer,“SodoI!”Ieagerlybroughtout.“Butnottothedegreetocontaminate—”“To contaminate?”—my big word left her at a loss. I explained it. “To

corrupt.”Shestared,takingmymeaningin;butitproducedinheranoddlaugh.“Are

youafraidhe’llcorruptyou?”Sheputthequestionwithsuchafineboldhumorthat,withalaugh,alittlesillydoubtless,tomatchherown,Igavewayforthetimetotheapprehensionofridicule.Butthenextday,asthehourformydriveapproached,Icroppedupinanother

place.“Whatwastheladywhowasherebefore?”“The last governess? Shewas also young and pretty—almost as young and

almostaspretty,miss,evenasyou.”“Ah,then,Ihopeheryouthandherbeautyhelpedher!”Irecollectthrowing

off.“Heseemstolikeusyoungandpretty!”“Oh,hedid,”Mrs.Groseassented:“itwasthewayhelikedeveryone!”She

hadnosoonerspokenindeedthanshecaughtherselfup.“Imeanthat’shisway—themaster’s.”Iwasstruck.“Butofwhomdidyouspeakfirst?”Shelookedblank,butshecolored.“Why,ofhim.”“Ofthemaster?”“Ofwhoelse?”There was so obviously no one else that the next moment I had lost my

impressionofherhavingaccidentally saidmore than shemeant; and ImerelyaskedwhatIwantedtoknow.“Didsheseeanythingintheboy—?”“Thatwasn’tright?Shenevertoldme.”Ihadascruple,butIovercameit.“Wasshecareful—particular?”Mrs.Groseappearedtotrytobeconscientious.“Aboutsomethings—yes.”“Butnotaboutall?”Againsheconsidered.“Well,miss—she’sgone.Iwon’ttelltales.”“Iquiteunderstandyourfeeling,”Ihastenedtoreply;butIthoughtit,afteran

instant,notopposedtothisconcessiontopursue:“Didshediehere?”“No—shewentoff.”Idon’tknowwhattherewasinthisbrevityofMrs.Grose’sthatstruckmeas

ambiguous.“Wentofftodie?”Mrs.Groselookedstraightoutofthewindow,butIfeltthat,hypothetically,IhadarighttoknowwhatyoungpersonsengagedforBlywereexpectedtodo.“Shewastakenill,youmean,andwenthome?”“Shewasnottakenill,sofarasappeared,inthishouse.Sheleftit,attheend

of theyear, togohome,asshesaid, forashortholiday, towhichthe timeshehad put in had certainly given her a right. We had then a young woman—anursemaidwhohadstayedonandwhowasagoodgirlandclever;andshetookthechildrenaltogetherfortheinterval.Butouryoungladynevercameback,andat the verymoment Iwas expectingher I heard from themaster that shewasdead.”Iturnedthisover.“Butofwhat?”“He never toldme! But please,miss,” saidMrs. Grose, “Imust get tomy

work.”

IIIHer thus turning her back on me was fortunately not, for my just

preoccupations, a snub that could check thegrowthofourmutual esteem.Wemet, after I had brought home little Miles, more intimately than ever on thegroundofmystupefaction,mygeneralemotion:somonstrouswasIthenreadytopronounceitthatsuchachildashadnowbeenrevealedtomeshouldbeunderan interdict. I was a little late on the scene, and I felt, as he stood wistfullylookingout formebefore thedoorof the innatwhich thecoachhadputhimdown,thatIhadseenhim,ontheinstant,withoutandwithin,inthegreatglowoffreshness,thesamepositivefragranceofpurity,inwhichIhad,fromthefirstmoment,seenhis littlesister.Hewas incrediblybeautiful,andMrs.Grosehadputherfingeronit:everythingbutasortofpassionoftendernessforhimwassweptawaybyhispresence.WhatIthenandtheretookhimtomyheartforwassomethingdivinethatIhaveneverfoundto thesamedegreeinanychild—hisindescribablelittleairofknowingnothingintheworldbutlove.Itwouldhavebeenimpossibletocarryabadnamewithagreatersweetnessofinnocence,andbythe timeIhadgotback toBlywithhimI remainedmerelybewildered—sofar,thatis,asIwasnotoutraged—bythesenseofthehorribleletterlockedupinmy room, in a drawer.As soon as I could compass a privatewordwithMrs.GroseIdeclaredtoherthatitwasgrotesque.Shepromptlyunderstoodme.“Youmeanthecruelcharge—?”“Itdoesn’tliveaninstant.Mydearwoman,lookathim!”Shesmiledatmypretentiontohavediscoveredhischarm.“Iassureyou,miss,

Idonothingelse!Whatwillyousay,then?”sheimmediatelyadded.“Inanswertotheletter?”Ihadmadeupmymind.“Nothing.”“Andtohisuncle?”Iwasincisive.“Nothing.”“Andtotheboyhimself?”Iwaswonderful.“Nothing.”Shegavewithherapronagreatwipetohermouth.“ThenI’llstandbyyou.

We’llseeitout.”“We’llseeitout!”Iardentlyechoed,givinghermyhandtomakeitavow.

She held me there a moment, then whisked up her apron again with herdetachedhand.“Wouldyoumind,miss,ifIusedthefreedom—”“To kissme?No!” I took the good creature inmy arms and, after we had

embracedlikesisters,feltstillmorefortifiedandindignant.This,atallevents,wasforthetime:atimesofullthat,asIrecallthewayit

went,itremindsmeofalltheartInowneedtomakeitalittledistinct.WhatIlookbackatwithamazementisthesituationIaccepted.Ihadundertaken,withmy companion, to see it out, and Iwas under a charm, apparently, that couldsmoothawaytheextentandthefaranddifficultconnectionsofsuchaneffort.Iwasliftedaloftonagreatwaveofinfatuationandpity.Ifounditsimple,inmyignorance,myconfusion, andperhapsmyconceit, to assume that I coulddealwithaboywhoseeducationfortheworldwasallonthepointofbeginning.Iamunableeventorememberat thisdaywhatproposalIframedfor theendofhisholidays and the resumption of his studies. Lessons with me, indeed, thatcharmingsummer,weallhadatheorythathewastohave;butInowfeelthat,forweeks,thelessonsmusthavebeenrathermyown.Ilearnedsomething—atfirst,certainly—thathadnotbeenoneoftheteachingsofmysmall,smotheredlife;learnedtobeamused,andevenamusing,andnottothinkforthemorrow.Itwasthefirsttime,inamanner,thatIhadknownspaceandairandfreedom,allthe music of summer and all the mystery of nature. And then there wasconsideration—and considerationwas sweet.Oh, itwas a trap—not designed,butdeep—tomyimagination,tomydelicacy,perhapstomyvanity;towhatever,inme,wasmostexcitable.ThebestwaytopictureitallistosaythatIwasoffmy guard. They gave me so little trouble—they were of a gentleness soextraordinary.Iusedtospeculate—buteventhiswithadimdisconnectedness—as tohow the rough future (for all futuresare rough!)wouldhandle themandmightbruisethem.Theyhadthebloomofhealthandhappiness;andyet,asifIhadbeeninchargeofapairoflittlegrandees,ofprincesoftheblood,forwhomeverything,toberight,wouldhavetobeenclosedandprotected,theonlyformthat, inmy fancy, theafteryears could take for themwas thatof a romantic, areallyroyalextensionofthegardenandthepark.Itmaybe,ofcourse,aboveall,thatwhatsuddenlybrokeintothisgivestheprevioustimeacharmofstillness—thathushinwhichsomethinggathersorcrouches.Thechangewasactuallylikethespringofabeast.Inthefirstweeksthedayswerelong;theyoften,attheirfinest,gavemewhat

Iusedtocallmyownhour,thehourwhen,formypupils,teatimeandbedtimehavingcomeandgone,Ihad,beforemyfinalretirement,asmallintervalalone.MuchasIlikedmycompanions,thishourwasthethinginthedayIlikedmost;

andIlikeditbestofallwhen,asthelightfaded—orrather,Ishouldsay,thedaylingeredandthelastcallsofthelastbirdssounded,inaflushedsky,fromtheoldtrees—I could take a turn into the grounds and enjoy, almostwith a sense ofpropertythatamusedandflatteredme,thebeautyanddignityoftheplace.Itwasa pleasure at these moments to feel myself tranquil and justified; doubtless,perhaps,alsotoreflect thatbymydiscretion,myquietgoodsenseandgeneralhighpropriety,Iwasgivingpleasure—ifheeverthoughtofit!—tothepersontowhosepressure Ihad responded.What Iwasdoingwaswhathehadearnestlyhopedanddirectlyaskedofme,andthatIcould,afterall,doitprovedevenagreaterjoythanIhadexpected.IdaresayIfanciedmyself,inshort,aremarkableyoung woman and took comfort in the faith that this would more publiclyappear.Well,Ineededtoberemarkabletoofferafronttotheremarkablethingsthatpresentlygavetheirfirstsign.Itwasplump,oneafternoon,inthemiddleofmyveryhour:thechildrenwere

tucked away, and I had comeout formy stroll.Oneof the thoughts that, as Idon’t in the least shrink now from noting, used to be with me in thesewanderingswas that itwouldbeas charmingas a charming story suddenly tomeet someone. Someonewould appear there at the turn of a path andwouldstand before me and smile and approve. I didn’t ask more than that—I onlyaskedthatheshouldknow;andtheonlywaytobesureheknewwouldbetoseeit,andthekindlightofit,inhishandsomeface.Thatwasexactlypresenttome—bywhichImean thefacewas—when,on thefirstof theseoccasions,at theendofalongJuneday,Istoppedshortonemergingfromoneoftheplantationsandcomingintoviewof thehouse.Whatarrestedmeonthespot—andwithashockmuch greater than any vision had allowed for—was the sense that myimagination had, in a flash, turned real. He did stand there!—but high up,beyondthelawnandattheverytopofthetowertowhich,onthatfirstmorning,little Flora had conducted me. This tower was one of a pair—square,incongruous, crenelated structures—that were distinguished, for some reason,though I could see little difference, as the new and the old. They flankedopposite ends of the house and were probably architectural absurdities,redeemedinameasure indeedbynotbeingwhollydisengagednorofaheighttoo pretentious, dating, in their gingerbread antiquity, from a romantic revivalthatwasalreadyarespectablepast.Iadmiredthem,hadfanciesaboutthem,forwecouldallprofit inadegree,especiallywhentheyloomedthroughthedusk,by thegrandeurof theiractualbattlements;yet itwasnotat suchanelevationthatthefigureIhadsoofteninvokedseemedmostinplace.Itproducedinme, this figure, in theclear twilight, I remember, twodistinct

gasps of emotion, which were, sharply, the shock ofmy first and that of mysecondsurprise.Mysecondwasaviolentperceptionofthemistakeofmyfirst:the man who met my eyes was not the person I had precipitately supposed.There came tome thus a bewilderment of vision of which, after these years,there is no living view that I can hope to give.An unknownman in a lonelyplace is a permitted object of fear to a youngwoman privately bred; and thefigurethatfacedmewas—afewmoresecondsassuredme—aslittleanyoneelseIknewasitwastheimagethathadbeeninmymind.IhadnotseenitinHarleyStreet—Ihadnotseenitanywhere.Theplace,moreover,inthestrangestwayintheworld,had,ontheinstant,andbytheveryfactofitsappearance,becomeasolitude. To me at least, making my statement here with a deliberation withwhichIhavenevermadeit,thewholefeelingofthemomentreturns.Itwasasif,whileItookin—whatIdidtakein—alltherestofthescenehadbeenstrickenwithdeath.Icanhearagain,asIwrite,theintensehushinwhichthesoundsofeveningdropped.Therooksstoppedcawinginthegoldensky,andthefriendlyhourlost,fortheminute,allitsvoice.Buttherewasnootherchangeinnature,unless indeed itwere a change that I sawwith a stranger sharpness.Thegoldwasstillinthesky,theclearnessintheair,andthemanwholookedatmeoverthe battlementswas as definite as a picture in a frame. That’s how I thought,withextraordinaryquickness,ofeachpersonthathemighthavebeenandthathewasnot.Wewereconfrontedacrossourdistancequitelongenoughformetoaskmyselfwithintensitywhothenhewasandtofeel,asaneffectofmyinabilitytosay,awonderthatinafewinstantsmorebecameintense.The great question, or one of these, is, afterward, I know, with regard to

certainmatters, thequestionofhowlongtheyhave lasted.Well, thismatterofmine, thinkwhat youwill of it, lastedwhile I caught at a dozen possibilities,noneofwhichmadeadifferenceforthebetter,thatIcouldsee,intherehavingbeen in thehouse—andforhowlong,aboveall?—apersonofwhomIwas inignorance. It lasted while I just bridled a little with the sense that my officedemandedthatthereshouldbenosuchignoranceandnosuchperson.It lastedwhilethisvisitant,atallevents—andtherewasatouchofthestrangefreedom,as I remember, in thesignof familiarityofhiswearingnohat—seemed to fixme,fromhisposition,withjustthequestion,justthescrutinythroughthefadinglight,thathisownpresenceprovoked.Weweretoofaraparttocalltoeachother,buttherewasamomentatwhich,atshorterrange,somechallengebetweenus,breakingthehush,wouldhavebeentherightresultofourstraightmutualstare.Hewasinoneoftheangles,theoneawayfromthehouse,veryerect,asitstruckme,andwithbothhandsontheledge.SoIsawhimasIseethelettersIformon

thispage; then,exactly,afteraminute,as if toadd to thespectacle,heslowlychanged his place—passed, looking at me hard all the while, to the oppositecornerof theplatform.Yes, Ihad the sharpest sense thatduring this transithenevertookhiseyesfromme,andIcanseeatthismomentthewayhishand,ashewent,passedfromoneofthecrenelationstothenext.Hestoppedattheothercorner,but less long, andevenashe turnedaway stillmarkedly fixedme.Heturnedaway;thatwasallIknew.

IVItwasnot that Ididn’twait,on thisoccasion, formore, for Iwas rootedas

deeplyasIwasshaken.Wastherea“secret”atBly—amysteryofUdolphooraninsane,anunmentionablerelativekeptinunsuspectedconfinement?Ican’tsayhowlongIturneditover,orhowlong,inaconfusionofcuriosityanddread,IremainedwhereIhadhadmycollision;IonlyrecallthatwhenIre-enteredthehousedarknesshadquiteclosedin.Agitation,intheinterval,certainlyhadheldme and drivenme, for Imust, in circling about the place, havewalked threemiles;butIwastobe,lateron,somuchmoreoverwhelmedthatthismeredawnofalarmwasacomparativelyhumanchill.Themostsingularpartofit,infact—singular as the rest had been—was the part I became, in the hall, aware of inmeetingMrs.Grose. This picture comes back tome in the general train—theimpression, as I received it on my return, of the wide white panelled space,bright in the lamplight and with its portraits and red carpet, and of the goodsurprisedlookofmyfriend,whichimmediately toldmeshehadmissedme.Itcame to me straightway, under her contact, that, with plain heartiness, mererelievedanxietyatmyappearance, sheknewnothingwhatever thatcouldbearupontheincidentIhadtherereadyforher.Ihadnotsuspectedinadvancethathercomfortablefacewouldpullmeup,andIsomehowmeasuredtheimportanceof what I had seen by my thus finding myself hesitate to mention it. Scarceanything in the whole history seems to me so odd as this fact that my realbeginning of fear was one, as I may say, with the instinct of sparing mycompanion.Onthespot,accordingly, in thepleasanthallandwithhereyesonme, I, for a reason that I couldn’t then have phrased, achieved an inwardresolution—offered a vague pretext for my lateness and, with the plea of thebeautyofthenightandoftheheavydewandwetfeet,wentassoonaspossibletomyroom.Here it was another affair; here, for many days after, it was a queer affair

enough. Therewere hours, from day to day—or at least thereweremoments,snatchedevenfromclearduties—whenIhadtoshutmyselfuptothink.Itwasnotsomuchyet that Iwasmorenervous thanIcouldbear tobeas that Iwasremarkably afraid of becoming so; for the truth I had now to turn over was,simply and clearly, the truth that I could arrive at no accountwhatever of thevisitorwithwhom I had been so inexplicably and yet, as it seemed tome, so

intimatelyconcerned.IttooklittletimetoseethatIcouldsoundwithoutformsofinquiryandwithoutexcitingremarkanydomesticcomplications.TheshockIhadsufferedmusthavesharpenedallmysenses;Ifeltsure,attheendofthreedaysandastheresultofmerecloserattention,thatIhadnotbeenpracticeduponby the servants normade theobject of any “game.”Ofwhatever itwas that Iknew, nothing was known around me. There was but one sane inference:someone had taken a liberty rather gross.Thatwaswhat, repeatedly, I dippedintomyroomandlockedthedoor tosaytomyself.Wehadbeen,collectively,subject toan intrusion; someunscrupulous traveler, curious inoldhouses,hadmadehiswayinunobserved,enjoyedtheprospectfromthebestpointofview,andthenstolenoutashecame.Ifhehadgivenmesuchaboldhardstare,thatwasbutapartofhisindiscretion.Thegoodthing,afterall,wasthatweshouldsurelyseenomoreofhim.Thiswasnotsogoodathing,Iadmit,asnottoleavemetojudgethatwhat,

essentially,madenothingelsemuchsignifywassimplymycharmingwork.MycharmingworkwasjustmylifewithMilesandFlora,andthroughnothingcouldI so like it as through feeling that I could throwmyself into it in trouble.Theattractionofmysmallchargeswasaconstantjoy,leadingmetowonderafreshatthevanityofmyoriginalfears, thedistasteIhadbegunbyentertainingfor theprobablegrayproseofmyoffice.Therewas tobenograyprose, it appeared,andnolonggrind;sohowcouldworknotbecharmingthatpresenteditselfasdaily beauty? It was all the romance of the nursery and the poetry of theschoolroom. I don’tmean by this, of course, thatwe studied only fiction andverse; I mean I can express no otherwise the sort of interest my companionsinspired.HowcanIdescribethatexceptbysayingthatinsteadofgrowingusedtothem—andit’samarvelforagoverness:Icall thesisterhoodtowitness!—Imade constant fresh discoveries. Therewas one direction, assuredly, inwhichthese discoveries stopped: deepobscurity continued to cover the regionof theboy’s conduct at school. It hadbeenpromptlygivenme, Ihavenoted, to facethatmysterywithoutapang.Perhapsevenitwouldbenearerthetruthtosaythat—withoutaword—hehimselfhadcleareditup.Hehadmadethewholechargeabsurd.Myconclusionbloomedtherewiththerealroseflushofhisinnocence:hewasonlytoofineandfairforthelittlehorrid,uncleanschool-world,andhehadpaidapriceforit.Ireflectedacutelythatthesenseofsuchdifferences,suchsuperioritiesofquality,always,onthepartofthemajority—whichcouldincludeevenstupid,sordidheadmasters—turninfalliblytothevindictive.Boththechildrenhadagentleness(itwastheironlyfault,anditnevermade

Milesamuff) thatkept them—howshall Iexpress it?—almost impersonaland

certainlyquiteunpunishable.Theywere like thecherubsof theanecdote,whohad—morally,atanyrate—nothingtowhack!IrememberfeelingwithMilesinespecial as if he hadhad, as itwere, nohistory.We expect of a small child ascant one, but there was in this beautiful little boy something extraordinarilysensitive,yetextraordinarilyhappy,that,morethaninanycreatureofhisageIhave seen, struckme as beginning aneweachday.Hehadnever for a secondsuffered.Itookthisasadirectdisproofofhishavingreallybeenchastised.Ifhehadbeenwickedhewouldhave“caught”it,andIshouldhavecaughtitbytherebound—I should have found the trace. I found nothing at all, and he wasthereforeanangel.Heneverspokeofhisschool,nevermentionedacomradeoramaster;andI,formypart,wasquitetoomuchdisgustedtoalludetothem.OfcourseIwasunderthespell,andthewonderfulpart is that,evenat thetime,IperfectlyknewIwas.ButIgavemyselfuptoit;itwasanantidotetoanypain,andIhadmorepainsthanone.Iwasinreceiptinthesedaysofdisturbinglettersfromhome,wherethingswerenotgoingwell.Butwithmychildren,whatthingsin the world mattered? That was the question I used to put to my scrappyretirements.Iwasdazzledbytheirloveliness.TherewasaSunday—togeton—when it rainedwith such forceand for so

many hours that there could be no procession to church; in consequence ofwhich, as the day declined, I had arranged with Mrs. Grose that, should theeveningshowimprovement,wewouldattendtogetherthelateservice.Therainhappilystopped,andIpreparedforourwalk,which,throughtheparkandbythegood road to the village, would be a matter of twenty minutes. Comingdownstairstomeetmycolleagueinthehall,Irememberedapairofglovesthathadrequiredthreestitchesandthathadreceivedthem—withapublicityperhapsnotedifying—while I satwith thechildrenat their tea, servedonSundays,byexception, in that cold, clean temple ofmahogany and brass, the “grown-up”dining room. The gloves had been dropped there, and I turned in to recoverthem. The day was gray enough, but the afternoon light still lingered, and itenabledme,oncrossingthethreshold,notonlytorecognize,onachairnearthewidewindow,thenclosed,thearticlesIwanted,buttobecomeawareofapersonontheothersideofthewindowandlookingstraightin.Onestepintotheroomhadsufficed;myvisionwasinstantaneous;itwasallthere.Thepersonlookingstraight inwas thepersonwhohad already appeared tome.He appeared thusagainwithIwon’tsaygreaterdistinctness, for thatwas impossible,butwithanearnessthatrepresentedaforwardstrideinourintercourseandmademe,asImethim,catchmybreathandturncold.Hewasthesame—hewasthesame,andseen, this time, as he had been seen before, from the waist up, the window,

thoughthediningroomwasonthegroundfloor,notgoingdowntotheterraceonwhichhestood.Hisfacewasclose to theglass,yet theeffectof thisbetterview was, strangely, only to show me how intense the former had been. Heremained but a few seconds—long enough to convince me he also saw andrecognized;butitwasasifIhadbeenlookingathimforyearsandhadknownhim always. Something, however, happened this time that had not happenedbefore; his stare intomy face, through the glass and across the room,was asdeepandhardasthen,butitquittedmeforamomentduringwhichIcouldstillwatchit,seeitfixsuccessivelyseveralotherthings.Onthespot therecametometheaddedshockofacertitudethatitwasnotformehehadcomethere.Hehadcomeforsomeoneelse.The flashof thisknowledge—for itwasknowledge in themidstofdread—

producedinmethemostextraordinaryeffect,startedasIstoodthere,asuddenvibration of duty and courage. I say courage because I was beyond all doubtalready fargone. I bounded straightout of thedoor again, reached that of thehouse,got,inaninstant,uponthedrive,and,passingalongtheterraceasfastasIcouldrush,turnedacornerandcamefullinsight.Butitwasinsightofnothingnow—myvisitorhadvanished.Istopped,Ialmostdropped,withtherealreliefofthis;butItookinthewholescene—Igavehimtimetoreappear.Icallittime,buthowlongwasit?Ican’tspeaktothepurposetodayofthedurationofthesethings.Thatkindofmeasuremusthaveleftme:theycouldn’thavelastedastheyactuallyappeared tome to last.The terraceand thewholeplace, the lawnandthe garden beyond it, all I could see of the park, were empty with a greatemptiness. There were shrubberies and big trees, but I remember the clearassuranceIfeltthatnoneofthemconcealedhim.Hewasthereorwasnotthere:not there if I didn’t see him. I got hold of this; then, instinctively, instead ofreturningas Ihadcome,went to thewindow. Itwasconfusedlypresent tomethatIoughttoplacemyselfwherehehadstood.Ididso;Iappliedmyfacetothepaneandlooked,ashehadlooked,intotheroom.Asif,atthismoment,toshowmeexactlywhathisrangehadbeen,Mrs.Grose,asIhaddoneforhimselfjustbefore,came in from thehall.With this Ihad the full imageofa repetitionofwhat had already occurred. She saw me as I had seen my own visitant; shepulled up short as I had done; I gave her something of the shock that I hadreceived.She turnedwhite, and thismademeaskmyself if I hadblanchedasmuch.Shestared, in short, and retreatedon justmy lines, and Iknewshehadthenpassedout andcome round tomeand that I shouldpresentlymeether. IremainedwhereIwas,andwhileIwaitedIthoughtofmorethingsthanone.Butthere’sonlyoneItakespacetomention.Iwonderedwhysheshouldbescared.

VOh,she letmeknowassoonas, round thecornerof thehouse, she loomed

againintoview.“Whatinthenameofgoodnessisthematter—?”Shewasnowflushedandoutofbreath.I said nothing till she came quite near. “With me?” I must have made a

wonderfulface.“DoIshowit?”“You’reaswhiteasasheet.Youlookawful.”Iconsidered;Icouldmeetonthis,withoutscruple,anyinnocence.Myneedto

respect the bloom of Mrs. Grose’s had dropped, without a rustle, from myshoulders,andifIwaveredfortheinstantitwasnotwithwhatIkeptback.Iputoutmyhandtoherandshetookit;Iheldherhardalittle,likingtofeelherclosetome.Therewasakindofsupportintheshyheaveofhersurprise.“Youcameformeforchurch,ofcourse,butIcan’tgo.”“Hasanythinghappened?”“Yes.Youmustknownow.DidIlookveryqueer?”“Throughthiswindow?Dreadful!”“Well,” I said, “I’ve been frightened.”Mrs. Grose’s eyes expressed plainly

thatshehadnowishtobe,yetalso thatsheknewtoowellherplacenot tobereadytosharewithmeanymarkedinconvenience.Oh,itwasquitesettledthatshemustshare!“Justwhatyousawfromthediningroomaminuteagowastheeffectofthat.WhatIsaw—justbefore—wasmuchworse.”Herhandtightened.“Whatwasit?”“Anextraordinaryman.Lookingin.”“Whatextraordinaryman?”“Ihaven’ttheleastidea.”Mrs.Grosegazedroundusinvain.“Thenwhereishegone?”“Iknowstillless.”“Haveyouseenhimbefore?”“Yes—once.Ontheoldtower.”Shecouldonlylookatmeharder.“Doyoumeanhe’sastranger?”

“Oh,verymuch!”“Yetyoudidn’ttellme?”“No—forreasons.Butnowthatyou’veguessed—”Mrs. Grose’s round eyes encountered this charge. “Ah, I haven’t guessed!”

shesaidverysimply.“HowcanIifyoudon’timagine?”“Idon’tintheveryleast.”“You’veseenhimnowherebutonthetower?”“Andonthisspotjustnow.”Mrs.Groselookedroundagain.“Whatwashedoingonthetower?”“Onlystandingthereandlookingdownatme.”Shethoughtaminute.“Washeagentleman?”IfoundIhadnoneedtothink.“No.”Shegazedindeeperwonder.“No.”“Thennobodyabouttheplace?Nobodyfromthevillage?”“Nobody—nobody.Ididn’ttellyou,butImadesure.”Shebreathedavaguerelief:thiswas,oddly,somuchtothegood.Itonlywent

indeedalittleway.“Butifheisn’tagentleman—”“Whatishe?He’sahorror.”“Ahorror?”“He’s—GodhelpmeifIknowwhatheis!”Mrs. Grose looked round once more; she fixed her eyes on the duskier

distance,then,pullingherselftogether,turnedtomewithabruptinconsequence.“It’stimeweshouldbeatchurch.”“Oh,I’mnotfitforchurch!”“Won’titdoyougood?”“Itwon’tdothem!—Inoddedatthehouse.“Thechildren?”“Ican’tleavethemnow.”“You’reafraid—?”Ispokeboldly.“I’mafraidofhim.”Mrs.Grose’slargefaceshowedme,atthis,forthefirsttime,thefarawayfaint

glimmerofaconsciousnessmoreacute:Isomehowmadeout in it thedelayeddawnofanideaImyselfhadnotgivenherandthatwasasyetquiteobscuretome.ItcomesbacktomethatIthoughtinstantlyofthisassomethingIcouldget

fromher;and I felt it tobeconnectedwith thedesire shepresentlyshowed toknowmore.“Whenwasit—onthetower?”“Aboutthemiddleofthemonth.Atthissamehour.”“Almostatdark,”saidMrs.Grose.“Oh,no,notnearly.IsawhimasIseeyou.”“Thenhowdidhegetin?”“Andhowdidhegetout?”Ilaughed.“Ihadnoopportunitytoaskhim!This

evening,yousee,”Ipursued,“hehasnotbeenabletogetin.”“Heonlypeeps?”“Ihopeitwillbeconfinedtothat!”Shehadnowletgomyhand;sheturned

awayalittle.Iwaitedaninstant;thenIbroughtout:“Gotochurch.Goodbye.Imustwatch.”Slowlyshefacedmeagain.“Doyoufearforthem?”Wemet in another long look. “Don’t you?” Instead of answering she came

nearertothewindowand,foraminute,appliedherfacetotheglass.“Youseehowhecouldsee,”Imeanwhilewenton.Shedidn’tmove.“Howlongwashehere?”“TillIcameout.Icametomeethim.”Mrs. Grose at last turned round, and there was still more in her face. “I

couldn’thavecomeout.”“NeithercouldI!”Ilaughedagain.“ButIdidcome.Ihavemyduty.”“SohaveImine,”shereplied;afterwhichsheadded:“Whatishelike?”“I’vebeendyingtotellyou.Buthe’slikenobody.”“Nobody?”sheechoed.“Hehasnohat.”Thenseeinginherfacethatshealready,inthis,withadeeper

dismay,foundatouchofpicture,Iquicklyaddedstroketostroke.“Hehasredhair,veryred,close-curling,andapaleface,longinshape,withstraight,goodfeaturesandlittle,ratherqueerwhiskersthatareasredashishair.Hiseyebrowsare,somehow,darker;theylookparticularlyarchedandasiftheymightmoveagood deal.His eyes are sharp, strange—awfully; but I only know clearly thatthey’rerathersmallandveryfixed.Hismouth’swide,andhislipsarethin,andexceptforhislittlewhiskershe’squiteclean-shaven.Hegivesmeasortofsenseoflookinglikeanactor.”“Anactor!”Itwasimpossibletoresembleoneless,atleast,thanMrs.Grose

atthatmoment.

“I’ve never seen one, but so I suppose them. He’s tall, active, erect,” Icontinued,“butnever—no,never!—agentleman.”Mycompanion’sfacehadblanchedasIwenton;herroundeyesstartedand

hermildmouth gaped. “Agentleman?” she gasped, confounded, stupefied: “agentlemanhe?”“Youknowhimthen?”Shevisiblytriedtoholdherself.“Butheishandsome?”Isawthewaytohelpher.“Remarkably!”“Anddressed—?”“Insomebody’sclothes.”“They’resmart,butthey’renothisown.”Shebrokeintoabreathlessaffirmativegroan:“They’rethemaster’s!”Icaughtitup.“Youdoknowhim?”Shefalteredbutasecond.“Quint!”shecried.

“Quint?”“PeterQuint—hisownman,hisvalet,whenhewashere!”“Whenthemasterwas?”Gaping still, butmeetingme, shepieced it all together. “Heneverworehis

hat,buthedidwear—well,therewerewaistcoatsmissed.Theywerebothhere—lastyear.Thenthemasterwent,andQuintwasalone.”Ifollowed,buthaltingalittle.“Alone?”“Alonewithus.”Then,asfromadeeperdepth,“Incharge,”sheadded.“Andwhatbecameofhim?”She hung fire so long that I was still more mystified. “He went, too,” she

broughtoutatlast.“Wentwhere?”Herexpression,atthis,becameextraordinary.“Godknowswhere!Hedied.”“Died?”Ialmostshrieked.She seemed fairly to square herself, plant herself more firmly to utter the

wonderofit.“Yes.Mr.Quintisdead.”

VIIt took of course more than that particular passage to place us together in

presenceofwhatwehadnowtolivewithaswecould—mydreadfulliabilitytoimpressions of the order so vividly exemplified, and my companion’sknowledge,henceforth—aknowledgehalfconsternationandhalfcompassion—ofthatliability.Therehadbeen,thisevening,aftertherevelationleftme,foranhour,soprostrate—therehadbeen,foreitherofus,noattendanceonanyservicebuta little serviceof tearsandvows,ofprayersandpromises,aclimax to theseries of mutual challenges and pledges that had straightway ensued on ourretreating together to the schoolroom and shutting ourselves up there to haveeverythingout.Theresultofourhavingeverythingoutwassimplytoreduceoursituation to the last rigorof itselements.Sheherselfhadseennothing,not theshadow of a shadow, and nobody in the house but the governess was in thegoverness’s plight; yet she acceptedwithout directly impugningmy sanity thetruth as I gave it to her, and ended by showing me, on this ground, anawestrickentenderness,anexpressionofthesenseofmymorethanquestionableprivilege,ofwhichtheverybreathhasremainedwithmeasthatofthesweetestofhumancharities.Whatwassettledbetweenus,accordingly,thatnight,wasthatwethoughtwe

might bear things together; and I was not even sure that, in spite of herexemption, it was shewho had the best of the burden. I knew at this hour, Ithink, as well as I knew later, what I was capable of meeting to shelter mypupils;butittookmesometimetobewhollysureofwhatmyhonestallywasprepared for to keep terms with so compromising a contract. I was queercompanyenough—quiteasqueerasthecompanyIreceived;butasItraceoverwhatwewentthroughIseehowmuchcommongroundwemusthavefoundintheoneideathat,bygoodfortune,couldsteadyus.Itwastheidea, thesecondmovement, that ledme straightout, as Imay say,of the inner chamberofmydread.Icouldtaketheairinthecourt,atleast,andthereMrs.Grosecouldjoinme.PerfectlycanIrecallnowtheparticularwaystrengthcametomebeforeweseparatedforthenight.WehadgoneoverandovereveryfeatureofwhatIhadseen.“Hewaslookingforsomeoneelse,yousay—someonewhowasnotyou?”

“HewaslookingforlittleMiles.”Aportentousclearnessnowpossessedme.“That’swhomhewaslookingfor.”“Buthowdoyouknow?”“Iknow,Iknow,Iknow!”Myexaltationgrew.“Andyouknow,mydear!”Shedidn’tdeny this,but I required, I felt,not even somuch tellingas that.

Sheresumedinamoment,atanyrate:“Whatifheshouldseehim?”“LittleMiles?That’swhathewants!”Shelookedimmenselyscaredagain.“Thechild?”“Heavenforbid!Theman.Hewantstoappeartothem.”Thathemightwasan

awfulconception,andyet,somehow,Icouldkeepitatbay;which,moreover,aswelingeredthere,waswhatIsucceededinpracticallyproving.IhadanabsolutecertaintythatIshouldseeagainwhatIhadalreadyseen,butsomethingwithinmesaidthatbyofferingmyselfbravelyasthesolesubjectofsuchexperience,byaccepting, by inviting, by surmounting it all, I should serve as an expiatoryvictimandguardthetranquilityofmycompanions.Thechildren,inespecial,Ishouldthusfenceaboutandabsolutelysave.IrecalloneofthelastthingsIsaidthatnighttoMrs.Grose.“Itdoesstrikemethatmypupilshavenevermentioned—”ShelookedatmehardasImusinglypulledup.“Hishavingbeenhereandthe

timetheywerewithhim?”“Thetimetheywerewithhim,andhisname,hispresence,hishistory,inany

way.”“Oh,thelittleladydoesn’tremember.Sheneverheardorknew.”“Thecircumstancesofhisdeath?”Ithoughtwithsomeintensity.“Perhapsnot.

ButMileswouldremember—Mileswouldknow.”“Ah,don’ttryhim!”brokefromMrs.Grose.I returnedher the look she had givenme. “Don’t be afraid.” I continued to

think.“Itisratherodd.”“Thathehasneverspokenofhim?”“Neverbytheleastallusion.Andyoutellmetheywere‘greatfriends’?”“Oh,itwasn’thim!”Mrs.Grosewithemphasisdeclared.“ItwasQuint’sown

fancy.Toplaywithhim,Imean—tospoilhim.”Shepausedamoment;thensheadded:“Quintwasmuchtoofree.”Thisgaveme, straight frommyvisionofhis face—such a face!—asudden

sicknessofdisgust.“Toofreewithmyboy?”

“Toofreewitheveryone!”I forbore, for the moment, to analyze this description further than by the

reflectionthatapartofitappliedtoseveralofthemembersofthehousehold,ofthehalf-dozenmaidsandmenwhowerestillofoursmallcolony.Buttherewaseverything,forourapprehension,intheluckyfactthatnodiscomfortablelegend,noperturbationofscullions,hadever,withinanyone’smemoryattachedto thekind old place. It had neither bad name nor ill fame, and Mrs. Grose, mostapparently,onlydesiredtoclingtomeandtoquakeinsilence.Ievenputher,theverylastthingofall,tothetest.Itwaswhen,atmidnight,shehadherhandonthe schoolroomdoor to take leave. “I have it fromyou then—for it’s of greatimportance—thathewasdefinitelyandadmittedlybad?”“Oh,notadmittedly.Iknewit—butthemasterdidn’t.”“Andyounevertoldhim?”“Well,hedidn’tliketale-bearing—hehatedcomplaints.Hewasterriblyshort

withanythingofthatkind,andifpeoplewereallrighttohim—”“Hewouldn’t be botheredwithmore?” This squaredwell enoughwithmy

impressions of him: he was not a trouble-loving gentleman, nor so veryparticularperhapsaboutsomeof thecompanyhekept.All thesame,Ipressedmyinterlocutress.“IpromiseyouIwouldhavetold!”Shefeltmydiscrimination.“IdaresayIwaswrong.But,really,Iwasafraid.”“Afraidofwhat?”“Ofthingsthatmancoulddo.Quintwassoclever—hewassodeep.”I took this in still more than, probably, I showed. “You weren’t afraid of

anythingelse?Notofhiseffect—?”“Hiseffect?”sherepeatedwithafaceofanguishandwaitingwhileIfaltered.“Oninnocentlittlepreciouslives.Theywereinyourcharge.”“No, they were not in mine!” she roundly and distressfully returned. “The

masterbelievedinhimandplacedhimherebecausehewassupposednottobewellandthecountryairsogoodforhim.Sohehadeverythingtosay.Yes”—sheletmehaveit—“evenaboutthem.”“Them—thatcreature?”Ihadtosmotherakindofhowl.“Andyoucouldbear

it!”“No.Icouldn’t—andIcan’tnow!”Andthepoorwomanburstintotears.Arigidcontrol,fromthenextday,was,asIhavesaid,tofollowthem;yethow

oftenandhowpassionately, foraweek,wecameback together to thesubject!

Much aswe had discussed it that Sunday night, Iwas, in the immediate laterhoursinespecial—foritmaybeimaginedwhetherIslept—stillhauntedwiththeshadowofsomethingshehadnottoldme.Imyselfhadkeptbacknothing,buttherewasawordMrs.Grosehadkeptback.Iwassure,moreover,bymorning,that thiswas not from a failure of frankness, but because on every side therewerefears. Itseemstomeindeed, inretrospect, thatby the timethemorrow’ssunwashighIhadrestlesslyreadintothefactbeforeusalmostallthemeaningtheywere to receive from subsequent andmore cruel occurrences.What theygavemeaboveallwas just thesinister figureof the livingman—thedeadonewould keep awhile!—and of the months he had continuously passed at Bly,which, added up, made a formidable stretch. The limit of this evil time hadarrivedonlywhen,onthedawnofawinter’smorning,PeterQuintwasfound,by a laborer going to early work, stone dead on the road from the village: acatastrophe explained—superficially at least—by a visiblewound to his head;suchawoundasmighthavebeenproduced—andas,onthefinalevidence,hadbeen—by a fatal slip, in the dark and after leaving the public house, on thesteepishicyslope,awrongpathaltogether,at thebottomofwhichhelay.Theicy slope, the turn mistaken at night and in liquor, accounted for much—practically,intheendandaftertheinquestandboundlesschatter,foreverything;but there had been matters in his life—strange passages and perils, secretdisorders, vices more than suspected—that would have accounted for a gooddealmore.Iscarceknowhowtoputmystoryintowordsthatshallbeacrediblepicture

ofmy stateofmind;but Iwas in thesedays literally able to find a joy in theextraordinaryflightofheroismtheoccasiondemandedofme.InowsawthatIhad been asked for a service admirable and difficult; and there would be agreatness in letting it be seen—oh, in the right quarter!—that I could succeedwheremany another girlmight have failed. Itwas an immensehelp tome—Iconfess I rather applaud myself as I look back!—that I saw my service sostronglyandsosimply. Iwas there toprotectanddefend the littlecreatures inthe world the most bereaved and the most lovable, the appeal of whosehelplessness had suddenly become only too explicit, a deep, constant ache ofone’sowncommittedheart.Wewerecutoff,really,together;wewereunitedinourdanger.Theyhadnothingbutme,andI—well,Ihadthem.Itwasinshortamagnificent chance. This chance presented itself to me in an image richlymaterial.Iwasascreen—Iwastostandbeforethem.ThemoreIsaw,thelesstheywould.Ibegantowatchtheminastifledsuspense,adisguisedexcitementthat might well, had it continued too long, have turned to something like

madness.What savedme, as I now see, was that it turned to something elsealtogether. It didn’t last as suspense—it was superseded by horrible proofs.Proofs,Isay,yes—fromthemomentIreallytookhold.Thismoment dated from an afternoon hour that I happened to spend in the

groundswiththeyoungerofmypupilsalone.WehadleftMilesindoors,ontheredcushionofadeepwindowseat;hehadwished to finishabook,and Ihadbeengladtoencourageapurposesolaudableinayoungmanwhoseonlydefectwas an occasional excess of the restless.His sister, on the contrary, had beenalerttocomeout,andIstrolledwithherhalfanhour,seekingtheshade,forthesunwasstillhighandthedayexceptionallywarm.Iwasawareafresh,withher,aswewent,ofhow,likeherbrother,shecontrived—itwasthecharmingthinginbothchildren—toletmealonewithoutappearingtodropmeandtoaccompanymewithoutappearingtosurround.Theywerenever importunateandyetneverlistless.Myattention to themall reallywent to seeing themamuse themselvesimmenselywithoutme:thiswasaspectacletheyseemedactivelytoprepareandthatengagedmeasanactiveadmirer.Iwalkedinaworldof their invention—theyhadnooccasionwhatever todrawuponmine;so thatmy timewas takenonlywithbeing,forthem,someremarkablepersonorthingthatthegameofthemomentrequiredandthatwasmerely,thankstomysuperior,myexaltedstamp,a happy and highly distinguished sinecure. I forgetwhat Iwas on the presentoccasion;IonlyrememberthatIwassomethingveryimportantandveryquietandthatFlorawasplayingveryhard.Wewereontheedgeofthelake,and,aswehadlatelybegungeography,thelakewastheSeaofAzof.Suddenly,inthesecircumstances,Ibecameawarethat,ontheothersideofthe

SeaofAzof,wehadaninterestedspectator.Thewaythisknowledgegatheredinmewas thestrangest thing in theworld—thestrangest, that is,except theverymuchstrangerinwhichitquicklymergeditself.Ihadsatdownwithapieceofwork—for I was something or other that could sit—on the old stone benchwhichoverlookedthepond;andinthispositionIbegantotakeinwithcertitude,andyetwithoutdirectvision,thepresence,atadistance,ofathirdperson.Theold trees, the thick shrubbery,made a great and pleasant shade, but itwas allsuffusedwith the brightness of the hot, still hour. Therewas no ambiguity inanything; none whatever, at least, in the conviction I from one moment toanother foundmyself forming as towhat I should see straight beforeme andacrossthelakeasaconsequenceofraisingmyeyes.Theywereattachedatthisjuncture to thestitching inwhichIwasengaged,andIcanfeeloncemore thespasmofmyeffortnottomovethemtillIshouldsohavesteadiedmyselfastobeabletomakeupmymindwhattodo.Therewasanalienobjectinview—a

figurewhose right of presence I instantly, passionately questioned. I recollectcounting over perfectly the possibilities, reminding myself that nothing wasmore natural, for instance, then the appearance of one of the men about theplace,orevenofamessenger,apostman,oratradesman’sboy,fromthevillage.ThatreminderhadaslittleeffectonmypracticalcertitudeasIwasconscious—stillevenwithoutlooking—ofitshavinguponthecharacterandattitudeofourvisitor. Nothing was more natural than that these things should be the otherthingsthattheyabsolutelywerenot.OfthepositiveidentityoftheapparitionIwouldassuremyselfassoonasthe

smallclockofmycourageshouldhavetickedouttherightsecond;meanwhile,withaneffort thatwasalreadysharpenough, I transferredmyeyes straight tolittleFlora,who,atthemoment,wasabouttenyardsaway.Myhearthadstoodstill for an instantwith thewonder and terror of thequestionwhether she toowouldsee;and Iheldmybreathwhile Iwaited forwhatacry fromher,whatsomesuddeninnocentsigneitherofinterestorofalarm,wouldtellme.Iwaited,butnothingcame;then, inthefirstplace—andthereissomethingmoredireinthis,Ifeel,thaninanythingIhavetorelate—Iwasdeterminedbyasensethat,withinaminute,allsoundsfromherhadpreviouslydropped;and,inthesecond,bythecircumstancethat,alsowithintheminute,shehad,inherplay,turnedherbacktothewater.ThiswasherattitudewhenIatlastlookedather—lookedwiththe confirmed conviction that we were still, together, under direct personalnotice.Shehadpickedupasmallflatpieceofwood,whichhappenedtohaveinitalittleholethathadevidentlysuggestedtohertheideaofstickinginanotherfragment thatmight figure as amast andmake the thing a boat. This secondmorsel, as I watched her, she was very markedly and intently attempting totighteninitsplace.MyapprehensionofwhatshewasdoingsustainedmesothataftersomesecondsIfeltIwasreadyformore.ThenIagainshiftedmyeyes—IfacedwhatIhadtoface.

VIII got hold of Mrs. Grose as soon after this as I could; and I can give no

intelligibleaccountofhowIfoughtouttheinterval.YetIstillhearmyselfcryasIfairlythrewmyselfintoherarms:“Theyknow—it’stoomonstrous:theyknow,theyknow!”“Andwhatonearth—?”Ifeltherincredulityassheheldme.“Why,allthatweknow—andheavenknowswhatelsebesides!”Then,asshe

released me, I made it out to her, made it out perhaps only now with fullcoherency even to myself. “Two hours ago, in the garden”—I could scarcearticulate—“Florasaw!”Mrs.Grosetookitasshemighthavetakenablowinthestomach.“Shehas

toldyou?”shepanted.“Notaword—that’sthehorror.Shekeptittoherself!Thechildofeight,that

child!”Unutterablestill,forme,wasthestupefactionofit.Mrs.Grose,ofcourse,couldonlygapethewider.“Thenhowdoyouknow?”“Iwasthere—Isawwithmyeyes:sawthatshewasperfectlyaware.”“Doyoumeanawareofhim?”“No—ofher.”IwasconsciousasIspokethatIlookedprodigiousthings,forI

gottheslowreflectionoftheminmycompanion’sface.“Anotherperson—thistime;buta figureofquiteasunmistakablehorrorandevil:awoman inblack,paleanddreadful—withsuchanairalso,andsuchaface!—ontheothersideofthelake.Iwastherewiththechild—quietforthehour;andinthemidstofitshecame.”“Camehow—fromwhere?”“Fromwheretheycomefrom!Shejustappearedandstoodthere—butnotso

near.”“Andwithoutcomingnearer?”“Oh,fortheeffectandthefeeling,shemighthavebeenascloseasyou!”Myfriend,withanoddimpulse, fellbackastep.“Wasshesomeoneyou’ve

neverseen?”“Yes.Butsomeone thechildhas.Someoneyouhave.”Then, toshowhowI

hadthoughtitallout:“Mypredecessor—theonewhodied.”“MissJessel?”“MissJessel.Youdon’tbelieveme?”Ipressed.Sheturnedrightandleftinherdistress.“Howcanyoubesure?”Thisdrewfromme,inthestateofmynerves,aflashofimpatience.“Thenask

Flora—she’ssure!”ButIhadnosoonerspokenthanIcaughtmyselfup.“No,forGod’ssake,don’t!She’llsaysheisn’t—she’lllie!”Mrs. Grose was not too bewildered instinctively to protest. “Ah, how can

you?”“BecauseI’mclear.Floradoesn’twantmetoknow.”“It’sonlythentospareyou.”“No,no—therearedepths,depths!ThemoreIgooverit,themoreIseeinit,

andthemoreIseeinit,themoreIfear.Idon’tknowwhatIdon’tsee—whatIdon’tfear!”Mrs.Grosetriedtokeepupwithme.“Youmeanyou’reafraidofseeingher

again?”“Oh,no;that’snothing—now!”ThenIexplained.“It’sofnotseeingher.”Butmycompaniononlylookedwan.“Idon’tunderstandyou.”“Why,it’sthatthechildmaykeepitup—andthatthechildassuredlywill—

withoutmyknowingit.”At the image of this possibility Mrs. Grose for a moment collapsed, yet

presentlytopullherselftogetheragain,asiffromthepositiveforceofthesenseofwhat,shouldweyieldan inch, therewouldreallybe togivewayto.“Dear,dear—wemust keep our heads!And after all, if she doesn’tmind it—!” Sheeventriedagrimjoke.“Perhapsshelikesit!”“Likessuchthings—ascrapofaninfant!”“Isn’titjustaproofofherblessedinnocence?”myfriendbravelyinquired.Shebroughtme,fortheinstant,almostround.“Oh,wemustclutchatthat—

wemust cling to it! If it isn’t a proof of what you say, it’s a proof of—Godknowswhat!Forthewoman’sahorrorofhorrors.”Mrs.Grose,atthis,fixedhereyesaminuteontheground;thenatlastraising

them,“Tellmehowyouknow,”shesaid.“Thenyouadmitit’swhatshewas?”Icried.“Tellmehowyouknow,”myfriendsimplyrepeated.

“Know?Byseeingher!Bythewayshelooked.”“Atyou,doyoumean—sowickedly?”“Dearme,no—Icouldhavebornethat.Shegavemeneveraglance.Sheonly

fixedthechild.”Mrs.Grosetriedtoseeit.“Fixedher?”“Ah,withsuchawfuleyes!”Shestaredatmineasiftheymightreallyhaveresembledthem.“Doyoumean

ofdislike?”“Godhelpus,no.Ofsomethingmuchworse.”“Worsethandislike?”—thisleftherindeedataloss.“Withadetermination—indescribable.Withakindoffuryofintention.”Imadeherturnpale.“Intention?”“Toget hold of her.”Mrs.Grose—her eyes just lingering onmine—gave a

shudder and walked to the window; and while she stood there looking out Icompletedmystatement.“That’swhatFloraknows.”Afteralittlesheturnedround.“Thepersonwasinblack,yousay?”“In mourning—rather poor, almost shabby. But—yes—with extraordinary

beauty.” I now recognized towhat I had at last, stroke by stroke, brought thevictimofmyconfidence, forshequitevisiblyweighed this.“Oh,handsome—very,very,”Iinsisted;“wonderfullyhandsome.Butinfamous.”Sheslowlycameback tome.“MissJessel—was infamous.”Sheoncemore

tookmyhandinbothherown,holdingitastightasiftofortifymeagainsttheincreaseofalarmImightdrawfromthisdisclosure.“Theywerebothinfamous,”shefinallysaid.So,foralittle,wefaceditoncemoretogether;andIfoundabsolutelyadegree

ofhelpinseeingitnowsostraight.“Iappreciate,”Isaid,“thegreatdecencyofyournothavinghithertospoken;butthetimehascertainlycometogivemethewhole thing.” She appeared to assent to this, but still only in silence; seeingwhich Iwenton: “Imust have it now.Ofwhatdid shedie?Come, therewassomethingbetweenthem.”“Therewaseverything.”“Inspiteofthedifference—?”“Oh,oftheirrank,theircondition”—shebroughtitwoefullyout.“Shewasa

lady.”Iturneditover;Iagainsaw.“Yes—shewasalady.”

“Andhesodreadfullybelow,”saidMrs.Grose.IfeltthatIdoubtlessneedn’tpresstoohard,insuchcompany,ontheplaceof

a servant in the scale; but there was nothing to prevent an acceptance ofmycompanion’sownmeasureofmypredecessor’sabasement.Therewasawaytodealwiththat,andIdealt;themorereadilyformyfullvision—ontheevidence—of our employer’s late clever, good-looking “own”man; impudent, assured,spoiled,depraved.“Thefellowwasahound.”Mrs. Grose considered as if it were perhaps a little a case for a sense of

shades.“I’veneverseenonelikehim.Hedidwhathewished.”“Withher?”“Withthemall.”Itwasas ifnow inmy friend’sowneyesMiss Jesselhadagainappeared. I

seemedatanyrate,foraninstant,toseetheirevocationofherasdistinctlyasIhadseenherbythepond;andIbroughtoutwithdecision:“Itmusthavebeenalsowhatshewished!”Mrs.Grose’s facesignified that ithadbeen indeed,butshesaidat thesame

time:“Poorwoman—shepaidforit!”“Thenyoudoknowwhatshediedof?”Iasked.“No—Iknownothing.Iwantednottoknow;IwasgladenoughIdidn’t;andI

thankedheavenshewaswelloutofthis!”“Yetyouhad,then,youridea—”“Ofherrealreasonforleaving?Oh,yes—astothat.Shecouldn’thavestayed.

Fancyithere—foragoverness!AndafterwardIimagined—andIstillimagine.AndwhatIimagineisdreadful.”“NotsodreadfulaswhatIdo,”Ireplied;onwhichImusthaveshownher—as

Iwasindeedbuttooconscious—afrontofmiserabledefeat.Itbroughtoutagainallhercompassionforme,andattherenewedtouchofherkindnessmypowertoresistbrokedown.Iburst,asIhad,theothertime,madeherburst,intotears;shetookmetohermotherlybreast,andmylamentationoverflowed.“Idon’tdoit!” I sobbed in despair; “I don’t save or shield them! It’s far worse than Idreamed—they’relost!”

VIIIWhatIhadsaidtoMrs.Grosewastrueenough:therewereinthematterIhad

putbeforeherdepthsandpossibilitiesthatIlackedresolutiontosound;sothatwhenwemetoncemoreinthewonderofitwewereofacommonmindaboutthedutyof resistance toextravagant fancies.Wewere tokeepourheads ifweshouldkeepnothingelse—difficultindeedasthatmightbeinthefaceofwhat,inourprodigiousexperience,wasleasttobequestioned.Latethatnight,whilethehouseslept,wehadanothertalkinmyroom,whenshewentallthewaywithmeastoitsbeingbeyonddoubtthatIhadseenexactlywhatIhadseen.Toholdher perfectly in the pinch of that, I found I had only to ask her how, if I had“madeitup,”Icametobeabletogive,ofeachofthepersonsappearingtome,apicture disclosing, to the last detail, their special marks—a portrait on theexhibitionofwhichshehadinstantlyrecognizedandnamedthem.Shewishedofcourse—small blame to her!—to sink the whole subject; and I was quick toassureherthatmyowninterestinithadnowviolentlytakentheformofasearchforthewaytoescapefromit.Iencounteredheronthegroundofaprobabilitythatwithrecurrence—forrecurrencewetookforgranted—Ishouldgetusedtomy danger, distinctly professing that my personal exposure had suddenlybecome the least of my discomforts. It was my new suspicion that wasintolerable; and yet even to this complication the later hours of the day hadbroughtalittleease.Onleavingher,aftermyfirstoutbreak,Ihadofcoursereturnedtomypupils,

associatingtherightremedyformydismaywiththatsenseoftheircharmwhichI had already found to be a thing I could positively cultivate and which hadnever failedme yet. I had simply, in otherwords, plunged afresh into Flora’sspecial society and there become aware—it was almost a luxury!—that shecould put her little conscious hand straight upon the spot that ached. She hadlookedatmeinsweetspeculationandthenhadaccusedmetomyfaceofhaving“cried.”IhadsupposedIhadbrushedawaytheuglysigns:butIcouldliterally—for the time,atallevents—rejoice,under this fathomlesscharity, that theyhadnotentirelydisappeared.Togazeintothedepthsofblueofthechild’seyesandpronounce their loveliness a trick of premature cunningwas to be guilty of acynicisminpreferencetowhichInaturallypreferredtoabjuremyjudgmentand,sofarasmightbe,myagitation.Icouldn’tabjureformerelywantingto,butI

couldrepeattoMrs.Grose—asIdidthere,overandover,inthesmallhours—thatwiththeirvoicesintheair,theirpressureonone’sheart,andtheirfragrantfacesagainstone’scheek,everythingfelltothegroundbuttheirincapacityandtheirbeauty.Itwasapitythat,somehow,tosettlethisonceforall,Ihadequallytore-enumeratethesignsofsubtletythat,intheafternoon,bythelakehadmadea miracle of my show of self-possession. It was a pity to be obliged toreinvestigatethecertitudeofthemomentitselfandrepeathowithadcometomeasarevelationthattheinconceivablecommunionIthensurprisedwasamatter,foreitherparty,ofhabit.ItwasapitythatIshouldhavehadtoquaveroutagainthereasonsformynothaving, inmydelusion,somuchasquestioned that thelittlegirlsawourvisitantevenasIactuallysawMrs.Groseherself,andthatshewanted,byjustsomuchasshedidthussee,tomakemesupposeshedidn’t,andat the same time,without showing anything, arrive at a guess as towhether Imyselfdid!ItwasapitythatIneededoncemoretodescribetheportentouslittleactivitybywhichshesoughttodivertmyattention—theperceptibleincreaseofmovement, thegreater intensityofplay, the singing, thegabblingofnonsense,andtheinvitationtoromp.Yet if I hadnot indulged, to prove therewasnothing in it, in this review, I

shouldhavemissedthetwoorthreedimelementsofcomfortthatstillremainedtome.IshouldnotforinstancehavebeenabletoasseveratetomyfriendthatIwascertain—whichwassomuch to thegood—that Iat leasthadnotbetrayedmyself. I shouldnothavebeenprompted,by stressofneed,bydesperationofmind—Iscarceknowwhattocallit—toinvokesuchfurtheraidtointelligenceasmightspringfrompushingmycolleaguefairlytothewall.Shehadtoldme,bitbybit,underpressure,agreatdeal;butasmallshiftyspotonthewrongsideofitallstillsometimesbrushedmybrowlikethewingofabat;andIrememberhowonthisoccasion—forthesleepinghouseandtheconcentrationalikeofourdangerandourwatch seemed tohelp—I felt the importanceofgiving the lastjerktothecurtain.“Idon’tbelieveanythingsohorrible,”Irecollectsaying;“no,let us put it definitely,mydear, that I don’t.But if I did, youknow, there’s athingIshouldrequirenow,justwithoutsparingyoutheleastbitmore—oh,notascrap, come!—to get out of you.What was it you had inmind when, in ourdistress,beforeMilescameback,overtheletterfromhisschool,yousaid,undermyinsistence,thatyoudidn’tpretendforhimthathehadnotliterallyeverbeen‘bad’?Hehasnot literally ‘ever,’ in theseweeks that Imyselfhave livedwithhimandsocloselywatchedhim;hehasbeenanimperturbablelittleprodigyofdelightful,lovablegoodness.Thereforeyoumightperfectlyhavemadetheclaimforhimifyouhadnot,asithappened,seenanexceptiontotake.Whatwasyour

exception, and to what passage in your personal observation of him did yourefer?”Itwas a dreadfully austere inquiry, but levitywas not our note, and, at any

rate,beforethegraydawnadmonishedustoseparateIhadgotmyanswer.Whatmyfriendhadhadinmindprovedtobeimmenselytothepurpose.Itwasneithermorenor less than the circumstance that for a periodof severalmonthsQuintand the boy had been perpetually together. Itwas in fact the very appropriatetruththatshehadventuredtocriticizethepropriety,tohintattheincongruity,ofsocloseanalliance,andeventogosofaronthesubjectasafrankoverturetoMissJessel.MissJesselhad,withamoststrangemanner,requestedhertomindherbusiness,andthegoodwomanhad,onthis,directlyapproachedlittleMiles.What she had said to him, since I pressed, was that she liked to see younggentlemennotforgettheirstation.Ipressedagain,ofcourse,at this.“YouremindedhimthatQuintwasonlya

basemenial?”“Asyoumightsay!Anditwashisanswer,foronething,thatwasbad.”“Andforanotherthing?”Iwaited.“HerepeatedyourwordstoQuint?”“No,notthat.It’sjustwhathewouldn’t!”shecouldstillimpressuponme.“I

was sure, at any rate,” she added, “that he didn’t. But he denied certainoccasions.”“Whatoccasions?”“Whentheyhadbeenabout togetherquiteas ifQuintwerehis tutor—anda

verygrandone—andMissJesselonlyforthelittlelady.Whenhehadgoneoffwiththefellow,Imean,andspenthourswithhim.”“He then prevaricated about it—he said he hadn’t?” Her assent was clear

enoughtocausemetoaddinamoment:“Isee.Helied.”“Oh!”Mrs.Grosemumbled.Thiswasasuggestionthatitdidn’tmatter;which

indeedshebackedupbyafurtherremark.“Yousee,afterall,MissJesseldidn’tmind.Shedidn’tforbidhim.”Iconsidered.“Didheputthattoyouasajustification?”Atthisshedroppedagain.“No,heneverspokeofit.”“NevermentionedherinconnectionwithQuint?”She saw, visibly flushing, where I was coming out. “Well, he didn’t show

anything.Hedenied,”sherepeated;“hedenied.”Lord, how I pressed her now! “So that you could see he knew what was

betweenthetwowretches?”

“Idon’tknow—Idon’tknow!”thepoorwomangroaned.“You do know, you dear thing,” I replied; “only you haven’t my dreadful

boldnessofmind,andyoukeepback,outoftimidityandmodestyanddelicacy,eventheimpressionthat,inthepast,whenyouhad,withoutmyaid,toflounderaboutinsilence,mostofallmadeyoumiserable.ButIshallgetitoutofyouyet!Therewas something in the boy that suggested to you,” I continued, “that hecoveredandconcealedtheirrelation.”“Oh,hecouldn’tprevent—”“Your learning the truth? I daresay! But, heavens,” I fell, with vehemence,

athinking, “what it shows that they must, to that extent, have succeeded inmakingofhim!”“Ah,nothingthat’snotnicenow!”Mrs.Groselugubriouslypleaded.“Idon’twonderyoulookedqueer,”Ipersisted,“whenImentionedtoyouthe

letterfromhisschool!”“IdoubtifIlookedasqueerasyou!”sheretortedwithhomelyforce.“Andif

hewassobadthenasthatcomesto,howishesuchanangelnow?”“Yes,indeed—andifhewasafiendatschool!How,how,how?Well,”Isaid

inmytorment,“youmustputittomeagain,butIshallnotbeabletotellyouforsomedays.Only,putittomeagain!”Icriedinawaythatmademyfriendstare.“There are directions in which I must not for the present let myself go.”Meanwhile I returned to her first example—the one to which she had justpreviously referred—of the boy’s happy capacity for an occasional slip. “IfQuint—onyourremonstranceatthetimeyouspeakof—wasabasemenial,oneof the things Miles said to you, I find myself guessing, was that you wereanother.” Again her admission was so adequate that I continued: “And youforgavehimthat?”“Wouldn’tyou?”“Oh, yes!”Andwe exchanged there, in the stillness, a sound of the oddest

amusement.ThenIwenton:“Atallevents,whilehewaswiththeman—”“MissFlorawaswiththewoman.Itsuitedthemall!”Itsuitedme,too,Ifelt,onlytoowell;bywhichImeanthatitsuitedexactly

the particularly deadly view I was in the very act of forbidding myself toentertain.But Isofarsucceeded inchecking theexpressionof thisviewthat Iwillthrow,justhere,nofurtherlightonitthanmaybeofferedbythementionofmyfinalobservationtoMrs.Grose.“Hishavingliedandbeenimpudentare,Iconfess, less engaging specimens than I had hoped to have from you of the

outbreakinhimofthelittlenaturalman.Still,”Imused,“Theymustdo,fortheymakemefeelmorethaneverthatImustwatch.”Itmademeblush,thenextminute,toseeinmyfriend’sfacehowmuchmore

unreservedlyshehadforgivenhimthanheranecdotestruckmeaspresentingtomy own tenderness an occasion for doing. This came out when, at theschoolroomdoor,shequittedme.“Surelyyoudon’taccusehim—”“Ofcarryingonanintercoursethatheconcealsfromme?Ah,rememberthat,

until furtherevidence, Inowaccusenobody.”Then,before shuttingherout togo,byanotherpassage,toherownplace,“Imustjustwait,”Iwoundup.

IXIwaitedandwaited,andthedays,astheyelapsed, tooksomethingfrommy

consternation. A very few of them, in fact, passing, in constant sight of mypupils,withoutafreshincident,sufficedtogivetogrievousfanciesandeventoodiousmemoriesakindofbrushofthesponge.IhavespokenofthesurrendertotheirextraordinarychildishgraceasathingIcouldactivelycultivate,anditmaybeimaginedifIneglectednowtoaddressmyselftothissourceforwhateveritwould yield. Stranger than I can express, certainly, was the effort to struggleagainstmynewlights;itwoulddoubtlesshavebeen,however,agreatertensionstill had it not been so frequently successful. I used towonder howmy littlecharges could help guessing that I thought strange things about them; and thecircumstances that these things only made them more interesting was not byitselfadirectaidtokeepingtheminthedark.Itrembledlesttheyshouldseethattheywere so immensely more interesting. Putting things at the worst, at allevents, as inmeditation I so often did, any clouding of their innocence couldonlybe—blamelessandforedoomedastheywere—areasonthemorefortakingrisks. There were moments when, by an irresistible impulse, I found myselfcatchingthemupandpressingthemtomyheart.AssoonasIhaddonesoIusedtosaytomyself:“Whatwilltheythinkofthat?Doesn’titbetraytoomuch?”Itwould have been easy to get into a sad,wild tangle about howmuch Imightbetray;buttherealaccount,Ifeel,ofthehoursofpeacethatIcouldstillenjoywas that the immediate charm of my companions was a beguilement stilleffectiveevenunder the shadowof thepossibility that itwas studied.For if itoccurredtomethatImightoccasionallyexcitesuspicionbythelittleoutbreaksofmysharperpassionforthem,sotooIrememberwonderingifImightn’tseeaqueernessinthetraceableincreaseoftheirowndemonstrations.Theywereatthisperiodextravagantlyandpreternaturallyfondofme;which,

after all, I could reflect, was no more than a graceful response in childrenperpetuallybowedoverandhugged.Thehomageofwhichtheyweresolavishsucceeded,intruth,formynerves,quiteaswellasifIneverappearedtomyself,asImaysay,literallytocatchthematapurposeinit.Theyhadnever,Ithink,wantedtodosomanythingsfortheirpoorprotectress;Imean—thoughtheygottheirlessonsbetterandbetter,whichwasnaturallywhatwouldpleasehermost—in the way of diverting, entertaining, surprising her; reading her passages,

telling her stories, acting her charades, pouncing out at her, in disguises, asanimalsandhistoricalcharacters,andaboveallastonishingherbythe“pieces”theyhadsecretlygotbyheartandcouldinterminablyrecite.Ishouldnevergetto the bottom—were I to let myself go even now—of the prodigious privatecommentary,allunderstillmoreprivatecorrection,withwhich,inthesedays,Ioverscored their full hours. They had shown me from the first a facility foreverything, a general faculty which, taking a fresh start, achieved remarkableflights.Theygottheirlittletasksasif theylovedthem,andindulged,fromthemereexuberanceof thegift, in themostunimposed littlemiraclesofmemory.TheynotonlypoppedoutatmeastigersandasRomans,butasShakespeareans,astronomers, and navigators. This was so singularly the case that it hadpresumablymuchtodowith thefactas towhich,at thepresentday,Iamataloss for a different explanation: I allude to my unnatural composure on thesubjectofanotherschoolforMiles.WhatIrememberisthatIwascontentnot,forthetime,toopenthequestion,andthatcontentmentmusthavesprungfromthesenseofhisperpetuallystrikingshowofcleverness.Hewastoocleverforabad governess, for a parson’s daughter, to spoil; and the strangest if not thebrightest threadinthepensiveembroideryI justspokeofwastheimpressionImighthavegot,ifIhaddaredtoworkitout,thathewasundersomeinfluenceoperatinginhissmallintellectuallifeasatremendousincitement.If itwas easy to reflect, however, that suchaboycouldpostpone school, it

was at least as marked that for such a boy to have been “kicked out” by aschoolmasterwasamystificationwithoutend.Letmeaddthatintheircompanynow—and Iwas careful almostnever tobeoutof it—Icould followno scentvery far. We lived in a cloud of music and love and success and privatetheatricals.Themusicalsenseineachofthechildrenwasofthequickest,buttheelder in especial had a marvelous knack of catching and repeating. Theschoolroom piano broke into all gruesome fancies; andwhen that failed therewere confabulations in corners,with a sequel of oneof themgoingout in thehighest spirits in order to “come in” as something new. I had had brothersmyself,anditwasnorevelationtomethatlittlegirlscouldbeslavishidolatersof littleboys.Whatsurpassedeverythingwas that therewasa littleboy in theworld who could have for the inferior age, sex, and intelligence so fine aconsideration.Theywereextraordinarilyatone,andtosaythattheynevereitherquarreledorcomplainedistomakethenoteofpraisecoarsefortheirqualityofsweetness.Sometimes,indeed,whenIdroppedintocoarseness,Iperhapscameacrosstracesoflittleunderstandingsbetweenthembywhichoneofthemshouldkeepmeoccupiedwhiletheotherslippedaway.Thereisanaïfside,Isuppose,

in all diplomacy; but if my pupils practiced uponme, it was surely with theminimum of grossness. It was all in the other quarter that, after a lull, thegrossnessbrokeout.IfindthatIreallyhangback;butImusttakemyplunge.Ingoingonwiththe

recordofwhatwashideousatBly,Inotonlychallengethemostliberalfaith—forwhich I littlecare;but—and this isanothermatter—Irenewwhat Imyselfsuffered, I again pushmyway through it to the end.There came suddenly anhour afterwhich, as I lookback, the affair seems tome tohavebeenall puresuffering;butIhaveatleastreachedtheheartofit,andthestraightestroadoutisdoubtlesstoadvance.Oneevening—withnothingtoleaduportoprepareit—Ifelt the cold touchof the impression thathadbreathedonme thenightofmyarrival andwhich,much lighter then, as I havementioned, I should probablyhavemadelittleofinmemoryhadmysubsequentsojournbeenlessagitated.Ihadnotgonetobed;Isatreadingbyacoupleofcandles.Therewasaroomfulofold books at Bly—last-century fiction, some of it, which, to the extent of adistinctlydeprecatedrenown,butnevertosomuchasthatofastrayspecimen,hadreachedthesequesteredhomeandappealedtotheunavowedcuriosityofmyyouth.Iremember that thebookIhadinmyhandwasFielding’sAmelia;alsothat Iwaswholly awake. I recall further both a general conviction that itwashorriblylateandaparticularobjectiontolookingatmywatch.Ifigure,finally,that thewhitecurtaindraping, inthefashionof thosedays, theheadofFlora’slittle bed, shrouded, as I had assured myself long before, the perfection ofchildish rest. I recollect in short that, though I was deeply interested in myauthor, I foundmyself, at the turn of a page and with his spell all scattered,looking straight up from him and hard at the door ofmy room. There was amomentduringwhichIlistened,remindedofthefaintsenseIhadhad,thefirstnight,oftherebeingsomethingundefinablyastirinthehouse,andnotedthesoftbreathoftheopencasementjustmovethehalf-drawnblind.Then,withall themarks of a deliberation that must have seemed magnificent had there beenanyonetoadmireit,Ilaiddownmybook,rosetomyfeet,and,takingacandle,went straightoutof the roomand, from thepassage,onwhichmy lightmadelittleimpression,noiselesslyclosedandlockedthedoor.I can say now neither what determined nor what guided me, but I went

straightalongthelobby,holdingmycandlehigh,tillIcamewithinsightofthetall window that presided over the great turn of the staircase. At this point Iprecipitately found myself aware of three things. They were practicallysimultaneous, yet they had flashes of succession. My candle, under a boldflourish,wentout,andIperceived,bytheuncoveredwindow,thattheyielding

duskofearliestmorningrendered itunnecessary.Without it, thenext instant, Isawthattherewassomeoneonthestair.Ispeakofsequences,butIrequirednolapse of seconds to stiffen myself for a third encounter with Quint. Theapparition had reached the landing halfway up andwas therefore on the spotnearestthewindow,whereatsightofme,itstoppedshortandfixedmeexactlyasithadfixedmefromthetowerandfromthegarden.HeknewmeaswellasIknewhim;andso, in thecold, faint twilight,withaglimmer in thehighglassand another on the polish of the oak stair below, we faced each other in ourcommon intensity. He was absolutely, on this occasion, a living, detestable,dangerous presence. But that was not the wonder of wonders; I reserve thisdistinction for quite another circumstance: the circumstance that dread hadunmistakablyquittedmeandthattherewasnothinginmetherethatdidn’tmeetandmeasurehim.Ihadplentyofanguishafterthatextraordinarymoment,butIhad,thankGod,

no terror. And he knew I had not—I found myself at the end of an instantmagnificentlyawareofthis.Ifelt,inafiercerigorofconfidence,thatifIstoodmy ground a minute I should cease—for the time, at least—to have him toreckonwith; and during theminute, accordingly, the thingwas as human andhideousasarealinterview:hideousjustbecauseitwashuman,ashumanastohave met alone, in the small hours, in a sleeping house, some enemy, someadventurer,somecriminal.Itwasthedeadsilenceofourlonggazeatsuchclosequartersthatgavethewholehorror,hugeasitwas,itsonlynoteoftheunnatural.If I hadmet amurderer in such a place and at such an hour,we still at leastwould have spoken. Something would have passed, in life, between us; ifnothing had passed, one of us would have moved. The moment was soprolonged that itwouldhave takenbut littlemore tomakemedoubt if even Iwereinlife.Ican’texpresswhatfolloweditsavebysayingthatthesilenceitself—which was indeed in a manner an attestation of my strength—became theelementintowhichIsawthefiguredisappear;inwhichIdefinitelysawitturnasImighthaveseenthelowwretchtowhichithadoncebelongedturnonreceiptofanorder,andpass,withmyeyesonthevillainousbackthatnohunchcouldhavemoredisfigured,straightdownthestaircaseandintothedarknessinwhichthenextbendwaslost.

XI remained awhile at the top of the stair, but with the effect presently of

understandingthatwhenmyvisitorhadgone,hehadgone:thenIreturnedtomyroom.TheforemostthingIsawtherebythelightofthecandleIhadleftburningwasthatFlora’slittlebedwasempty;andonthisIcaughtmybreathwithalltheterrorthat,fiveminutesbefore,Ihadbeenabletoresist.IdashedattheplaceinwhichIhadleftherlyingandoverwhich(forthesmallsilkcounterpaneandthesheetsweredisarranged)thewhitecurtainshadbeendeceivinglypulledforward;thenmystep,tomyunutterablerelief,producedanansweringsound:Iperceivedanagitationof thewindowblind,andthechild,duckingdown,emergedrosilyfromtheothersideofit.Shestoodthereinsomuchofhercandorandsolittleofher nightgown,with her pink bare feet and the golden glow of her curls. Shelookedintenselygrave,andIhadneverhadsuchasenseoflosinganadvantageacquired (the thrill of which had just been so prodigious) as on myconsciousnessthatsheaddressedmewithareproach.“Younaughty:wherehaveyou been?”—instead of challenging her own irregularity I found myselfarraigned and explaining. She herself explained, for that matter, with theloveliest, eagerest simplicity.Shehadknown suddenly, as she lay there, that Iwasoutoftheroom,andhadjumpeduptoseewhathadbecomeofme.Ihaddropped,withthejoyofherreappearance,backintomychair—feelingthen,andthenonly,alittlefaint;andshehadpatteredstraightovertome,thrownherselfuponmyknee,givenherselftobeheldwiththeflameofthecandlefull inthewonderful little face thatwas still flushedwith sleep. I remember closingmyeyes an instant, yieldingly, consciously, as before the excess of somethingbeautifulthatshoneoutoftheblueofherown.“Youwerelookingformeoutofthewindow?”Isaid.“YouthoughtImightbewalkinginthegrounds?”“Well,youknow,Ithoughtsomeonewas”—sheneverblanchedasshesmiled

outthatatme.Oh,howIlookedathernow!“Anddidyouseeanyone?”“Ah, no!” she returned, almost with the full privilege of childish

inconsequence, resentfully, thoughwith a long sweetness inher little drawlofthenegative.Atthatmoment,inthestateofmynerves,Iabsolutelybelievedshelied;and

if I once more closed my eyes it was before the dazzle of the three or fourpossiblewaysinwhichImighttakethisup.Oneofthese,foramoment,temptedmewith such singular intensity that, towithstand it, Imust have grippedmylittlegirlwithaspasmthat,wonderfully,shesubmittedtowithoutacryorasignoffright.Whynotbreakoutatheronthespotandhaveitallover?—giveittoher straight inher lovely little lighted face? “You see, you see, youknow thatyoudoandthatyoualreadyquitesuspectIbelieveit;therefore,whynotfranklyconfessittome,sothatwemayatleastlivewithittogetherandlearnperhaps,inthestrangenessofourfate,whereweareandwhatitmeans?”Thissolicitationdropped,alas,as itcame: if Icould immediatelyhavesuccumbedto it Imighthave spared myself—well, you’ll see what. Instead of succumbing I sprangagaintomyfeet,lookedatherbed,andtookahelplessmiddleway.“Whydidyoupullthecurtainovertheplacetomakemethinkyouwerestillthere?”Flora luminously considered; after which, with her little divine smile:

“BecauseIdon’tliketofrightenyou!”“ButifIhad,byyouridea,goneout—?”Sheabsolutelydeclinedtobepuzzled;sheturnedhereyestotheflameofthe

candleasifthequestionwereasirrelevant,oratanyrateasimpersonal,asMrs.Marcetornine-times-nine.“Oh,butyouknow,”shequiteadequatelyanswered,“that youmight come back, you dear, and that you have!” And after a little,whenshehadgotintobed,Ihad,foralongtime,byalmostsittingonhertoholdherhand,toprovethatIrecognizedthepertinenceofmyreturn.Youmayimaginethegeneralcomplexion,fromthatmoment,ofmynights.I

repeatedly sat up till I didn’t know when; I selected moments when myroommate unmistakably slept, and, stealing out, took noiseless turns in thepassageandevenpushedasfarastowhereIhadlastmetQuint.ButInevermethimthereagain;andImayaswellsayatoncethatIonnootheroccasionsawhimin thehouse. I justmissed,on thestaircase,on theotherhand,adifferentadventure. Looking down it from the top I once recognized the presence of awomanseatedononeofthelowerstepswithherbackpresentedtome,herbodyhalf-bowedandherhead,inanattitudeofwoe,inherhands.Ihadbeentherebutan instant, however,when she vanishedwithout looking round atme. I knew,nonetheless, exactly what dreadful face she had to show; and I wonderedwhether,ifinsteadofbeingaboveIhadbeenbelow,Ishouldhavehad,forgoingup,thesamenerveIhadlatelyshownQuint.Well,therecontinuedtobeplentyof chance for nerve.On the eleventh night aftermy latest encounterwith thatgentleman—theywereallnumberednow—Ihadanalarmthatperilouslyskirteditandthatindeed,fromtheparticularqualityofitsunexpectedness,provedquite

mysharpestshock.Itwaspreciselythefirstnightduringthisseriesthat,wearywithwatching,IhadfeltthatImightagainwithoutlaxitylaymyselfdownatmyoldhour.Isleptimmediatelyand,asIafterwardknew,tillaboutoneo’clock;butwhen I woke it was to sit straight up, as completely roused as if a hand hadshookme. I had left a light burning, but itwas nowout, and I felt an instantcertaintythatFlorahadextinguishedit.Thisbroughtmetomyfeetandstraight,inthedarkness,toherbed,whichIfoundshehadleft.Aglanceatthewindowenlightenedmefurther,andthestrikingofamatchcompletedthepicture.Thechildhadagaingotup—this timeblowingout the taper,andhadagain,

forsomepurposeofobservationorresponse,squeezedinbehindtheblindandwaspeeringoutintothenight.Thatshenowsaw—asshehadnot,Ihadsatisfiedmyself,theprevioustime—wasprovedtomebythefactthatshewasdisturbedneitherbymyreilluminationnorbythehasteImadetogetintoslippersandintoa wrap. Hidden, protected, absorbed, she evidently rested on the sill—thecasementopenedforward—andgaveherselfup.Therewasagreatstillmoontohelpher,and this facthadcounted inmyquickdecision.Shewasface to facewiththeapparitionwehadmetatthelake,andcouldnowcommunicatewithitas shehadnot thenbeenable todo.What I,onmyside,had tocare forwas,without disturbing her, to reach, from the corridor, some otherwindow in thesamequarter.Igottothedoorwithoutherhearingme;Igotoutofit,closedit,andlistened,fromtheotherside,forsomesoundfromher.WhileIstoodinthepassage I hadmyeyesonherbrother’sdoor,whichwasbut ten stepsoff andwhich, indescribably, produced inme a renewal of the strange impulse that Ilatelyspokeofasmytemptation.WhatifIshouldgostraightinandmarchtohiswindow?—what if, by risking to his boyish bewilderment a revelation of mymotive, I should throw across the rest of the mystery the long halter of myboldness?Thisthoughtheldmesufficientlytomakemecrosstohisthresholdandpause

again.Ipreternaturallylistened;Ifiguredtomyselfwhatmightportentouslybe;Iwonderedifhisbedwerealsoemptyandhetooweresecretlyatwatch.Itwasadeep,soundlessminute,attheendofwhichmyimpulsefailed.Hewasquiet;hemightbeinnocent;theriskwashideous;Iturnedaway.Therewasafigureinthegrounds—a figure prowling for a sight, the visitor with whom Flora wasengaged; but it was not the visitor most concerned with my boy. I hesitatedafresh,butonothergroundsandonly for a fewseconds; then Ihadmademychoice.TherewereemptyroomsatBly,anditwasonlyaquestionofchoosingtherightone.Therightonesuddenlypresenteditselftomeasthelowerone—though high above the gardens—in the solid corner of the house that I have

spoken of as the old tower. This was a large, square chamber, arranged withsomestateasabedroom,theextravagantsizeofwhichmadeitsoinconvenientthat it hadnot for years, thoughkept byMrs.Grose in exemplaryorder, beenoccupied.IhadoftenadmireditandIknewmywayaboutinit;Ihadonly,afterjustfalteringatthefirstchillgloomofitsdisuse,topassacrossitandunboltasquietly as I could one of the shutters. Achieving this transit, I uncovered theglasswithoutasoundand,applyingmyfacetothepane,wasable,thedarknesswithoutbeingmuchlessthanwithin,toseethatIcommandedtherightdirection.Then I saw something more. The moon made the night extraordinarilypenetrable and showedmeon the lawnaperson,diminishedbydistance,whostoodtheremotionlessandasiffascinated,lookinguptowhereIhadappeared—looking, that is, not so much straight at me as at something that wasapparentlyaboveme.Therewasclearlyanotherpersonaboveme—therewasapersononthetower;butthepresenceonthelawnwasnotintheleastwhatIhadconceivedandhadconfidentlyhurriedtomeet.Thepresenceonthelawn—IfeltsickasImadeitout—waspoorlittleMileshimself.

XIItwasnottilllatenextdaythatIspoketoMrs.Grose;therigorwithwhichI

keptmypupils in sightmaking itoftendifficult tomeetherprivately, and themore as we each felt the importance of not provoking—on the part of theservants quite as much as on that of the children—any suspicion of a secretflurry or that of a discussion of mysteries. I drew a great security in thisparticularfromhermeresmoothaspect.Therewasnothinginherfreshfacetopass on to others my horrible confidences. She believed me, I was sure,absolutely: if she hadn’t I don’t knowwhat would have become ofme, for Icouldn’thavebornethebusinessalone.Butshewasamagnificentmonumenttotheblessingofawantofimagination,andifshecouldseeinourlittlechargesnothingbuttheirbeautyandamiability,theirhappinessandcleverness,shehadnodirectcommunicationwiththesourcesofmytrouble.Iftheyhadbeenatallvisiblyblightedorbattered,shewoulddoubtlesshavegrown,ontracingitback,haggardenoughtomatchthem;asmattersstood,however,Icouldfeelher,whenshesurveyedthem,withherlargewhitearmsfoldedandthehabitofserenityinallher look, thank theLord’smercy that if theywere ruined thepieceswouldstillserve.Flightsoffancygaveplace,inhermind,toasteadyfiresideglow,andIhadalreadybeguntoperceivehow,withthedevelopmentoftheconvictionthat—astimewentonwithoutapublicaccident—ouryoungthingscould,afterall,look out for themselves, she addressed her greatest solicitude to the sad casepresented by their instructress. That, formyself,was a sound simplification: Icouldengagethat,totheworld,myfaceshouldtellnotales,butitwouldhavebeen, in theconditions, an immenseaddedstrain to findmyself anxiousabouthers.AtthehourInowspeakofshehadjoinedme,underpressure,ontheterrace,

where,with the lapseof theseason, theafternoonsunwasnowagreeable;andwesattheretogetherwhile,beforeus,atadistance,butwithincallifwewished,the children strolled to and fro in one of theirmostmanageablemoods.Theymovedslowly,inunison,belowus,overthelawn,theboy,astheywent,readingaloudfromastorybookandpassinghisarmroundhissistertokeepherquiteintouch. Mrs. Grose watched them with positive placidity; then I caught thesuppressedintellectualcreakwithwhichsheconscientiouslyturnedtotakefrommeaviewofthebackofthetapestry.Ihadmadeherareceptacleofluridthings,

but therewasanodd recognitionofmysuperiority—myaccomplishmentsandmy function—in her patience under my pain. She offered her mind to mydisclosures as, had I wished to mix a witch’s broth and proposed it withassurance, shewould have held out a large clean saucepan. This had becomethoroughlyherattitudebythetimethat,inmyrecitaloftheeventsofthenight,IreachedthepointofwhatMileshadsaidtomewhen,afterseeinghim,atsuchamonstroushour, almost on thevery spotwherehehappenednow tobe, I hadgonedowntobringhimin;choosing then,at thewindow,withaconcentratedneedofnotalarmingthehouse,ratherthatmethodthanasignalmoreresonant.Ihad left her meanwhile in little doubt of my small hope of representing withsuccesseven toheractualsympathymysenseof the real splendorof the littleinspirationwithwhich,afterIhadgothimintothehouse,theboymetmyfinalarticulatechallenge.Assoonas Iappeared in themoonlighton the terrace,hehadcometomeasstraightaspossible;onwhichIhadtakenhishandwithoutawordandledhim,throughthedarkspaces,upthestaircasewhereQuinthadsohungrily hovered for him, along the lobbywhere I had listened and trembled,andsotohisforsakenroom.Not a sound, on theway, hadpassedbetweenus, and I hadwondered—oh,

howIhadwondered!—ifheweregropingaboutinhislittlemindforsomethingplausibleandnottoogrotesque.Itwouldtaxhisinvention,certainly,andIfelt,thistime,overhisrealembarrassment,acuriousthrilloftriumph.Itwasasharptrap for the inscrutable!Hecouldn’tplayany longer at innocence; sohow thedeucewouldhegetoutofit?Therebeatinmeindeed,withthepassionatethrobof this question an equal dumb appeal as to how the deuce I should. I wasconfrontedatlast,asneveryet,withalltheriskattachedevennowtosoundingmyownhorridnote.Irememberinfactthataswepushedintohislittlechamber,where the bed had not been slept in at all and the window, uncovered to themoonlight,madetheplacesoclearthattherewasnoneedofstrikingamatch—IrememberhowIsuddenlydropped,sankupontheedgeofthebedfromtheforceoftheideathathemustknowhowhereally,astheysay,“had”me.Hecoulddowhatheliked,withallhisclevernesstohelphim,solongasIshouldcontinuetodefertotheoldtraditionofthecriminalityofthosecaretakersoftheyoungwhoministertosuperstitionsandfears.He“had”meindeed,andinacleftstick;forwhowouldeverabsolveme,whowouldconsentthatIshouldgounhung,if,bythe faintest tremorofanoverture, Iwere the first to introduce intoourperfectintercourse anelement sodire?No,no: itwasuseless to attempt to convey toMrs.Grose,justasitisscarcelylesssotoattempttosuggesthere,how,inourshort,stiffbrushinthedark,hefairlyshookmewithadmiration.Iwasofcourse

thoroughly kind and merciful; never, never yet had I placed on his littleshouldershandsofsuch tendernessas thosewithwhich,while I restedagainstthebed,Iheldhimtherewellunderfire.Ihadnoalternativebut,informatleast,toputittohim.“Youmust tellme now—and all the truth.What did you go out for?What

wereyoudoingthere?”I can still seehiswonderful smile, thewhitesof hisbeautiful eyes, and the

uncoveringofhislittleteethshinetomeinthedusk.“IfItellyouwhy,willyouunderstand?”Myheart,atthis,leapedintomymouth.Wouldhetellmewhy?Ifoundnosoundonmylipstopressit,andIwasawareofreplyingonlywithavague, repeated, grimacingnod.Hewas gentleness itself, andwhile Iwaggedmy head at him he stood theremore than ever a little fairy prince. Itwas hisbrightnessindeedthatgavemearespite.Woulditbesogreatifhewerereallygoingtotellme?“Well,”hesaidatlast,“justexactlyinorderthatyoushoulddothis.”“Dowhat?”“Thinkme—forachange—bad!”Ishallneverforgetthesweetnessandgaiety

withwhichhebroughtouttheword,norhow,ontopofit,hebentforwardandkissedme.Itwaspractically theendofeverything. ImethiskissandIhad tomake,while I foldedhimforaminute inmyarms, themoststupendouseffortnottocry.Hehadgivenexactlytheaccountofhimselfthatpermittedleastofmygoingbehindit,anditwasonlywiththeeffectofconfirmingmyacceptanceofitthat,asIpresentlyglancedabouttheroom,Icouldsay—“Thenyoudidn’tundressatall?”Hefairlyglitteredinthegloom.“Notatall.Isatupandread.”“Andwhendidyougodown?”“Atmidnight.WhenI’mbadIambad!”“Isee,Isee—it’scharming.ButhowcouldyoubesureIwouldknowit?”“Oh,IarrangedthatwithFlora.”Hisanswersrangoutwithareadiness!“She

wastogetupandlookout.”“Whichiswhatshediddo.”ItwasIwhofellintothetrap!“Soshedisturbedyou,and,toseewhatshewaslookingat,youalsolooked—

yousaw.”“Whileyou,”Iconcurred,“caughtyourdeathinthenightair!”He literally bloomed so from this exploit that he could afford radiantly to

assent.“HowotherwiseshouldIhavebeenbadenough?”heasked.Then,after

anotherembrace,theincidentandourinterviewclosedonmyrecognitionofallthereservesofgoodnessthat,forhisjoke,hehadbeenabletodrawupon.

XIITheparticularimpressionIhadreceivedprovedinthemorninglight,Irepeat,

notquitesuccessfullypresentabletoMrs.Grose,thoughIreinforceditwiththementionofstillanotherremarkthathehadmadebeforeweseparated.“Itallliesinhalfadozenwords,”Isaidtoher,“wordsthatreallysettlethematter.‘Think,youknow,whatImightdo!’Hethrewthatofftoshowmehowgoodheis.Heknowsdowntothegroundwhathe‘might’do.That’swhathegavethematasteofatschool.”“Lord,youdochange!”criedmyfriend.“Idon’tchange—Isimplymakeitout.Thefour,dependuponit,perpetually

meet.Ifoneitheroftheselastnightsyouhadbeenwitheitherchild,youwouldclearlyhaveunderstood.Themore I’vewatchedandwaited themore I’ve feltthat if there were nothing else to make it sure it would be made so by thesystematicsilenceofeach.Never,byaslipofthetongue,havetheysomuchasalluded to either of their old friends, anymore thanMiles has alluded to hisexpulsion.Oh,yes,wemaysithereandlookatthem,andtheymayshowofftous there to their fill; but even while they pretend to be lost in their fairytalethey’re steeped in theirvisionof thedead restored.He’snot reading toher,” Ideclared;“they’retalkingofthem—they’retalkinghorrors!Igoon,Iknow,asifIwerecrazy;andit’sawonderI’mnot.WhatI’veseenwouldhavemadeyouso;butithasonlymadememorelucid,mademegetholdofstillotherthings.”My luciditymust have seemed awful, but the charming creatureswhowere

victims of it, passing and repassing in their interlocked sweetness, gave mycolleague something to hold on by; and I felt how tight she held as, withoutstirring in thebreathofmypassion, shecovered themstillwithher eyes. “Ofwhatotherthingshaveyougothold?”“Why,oftheverythingsthathavedelighted,fascinated,andyet,atbottom,as

I now so strangely see, mystified and troubled me. Their more than earthlybeauty, their absolutely unnatural goodness. It’s a game,” I went on; “it’s apolicyandafraud!”“Onthepartoflittledarlings—?”“Asyetmerelovelybabies?Yes,madasthatseems!”Theveryactofbringing

it out really helped me to trace it—follow it all up and piece it all together.

“They haven’t been good—they’ve only been absent. It has been easy to livewiththem,becausethey’resimplyleadingalifeoftheirown.They’renotmine—they’renotours.They’rehisandthey’rehers!”“Quint’sandthatwoman’s?”“Quint’sandthatwoman’s.Theywanttogettothem.”Oh,how,atthis,poorMrs.Groseappearedtostudythem!“Butforwhat?”“Fortheloveofalltheevilthat,inthosedreadfuldays,thepairputintothem.

And to ply themwith that evil still, to keep up thework of demons, is whatbringstheothersback.”“Laws!”saidmyfriendunderherbreath.Theexclamationwashomely,butit

revealed a real acceptance ofmy further proof of what, in the bad time—fortherehadbeenaworseeventhanthis!—musthaveoccurred.Therecouldhavebeen no such justification for me as the plain assent of her experience towhateverdepthofdepravityIfoundcredibleinourbraceofscoundrels.Itwasinobvioussubmissionofmemorythatshebroughtoutafteramoment:“Theywererascals!Butwhatcantheynowdo?”shepursued.“Do?”IechoedsoloudthatMilesandFlora,astheypassedattheirdistance,

paused an instant in their walk and looked at us. “Don’t they do enough?” Idemanded in a lower tone,while the children, having smiled and nodded andkissedhandstous,resumedtheirexhibition.Wewereheldbyitaminute;thenIanswered: “They can destroy them!” At this my companion did turn, but theinquiryshelaunchedwasasilentone,theeffectofwhichwastomakememoreexplicit.“Theydon’tknow,asyet,quitehow—butthey’retryinghard.They’reseenonlyacross,asitwere,andbeyond—instrangeplacesandonhighplaces,thetopoftowers,theroofofhouses,theoutsideofwindows,thefurtheredgeofpools; but there’s a deep design, on either side, to shorten the distance andovercome the obstacle; and the success of the tempters is only a question oftime.They’veonlytokeeptotheirsuggestionsofdanger.”“Forthechildrentocome?”“And perish in the attempt!”Mrs.Grose slowly got up, and I scrupulously

added:“Unless,ofcourse,wecanprevent!”StandingtherebeforemewhileIkeptmyseat,shevisiblyturnedthingsover.

“Theirunclemustdothepreventing.Hemusttakethemaway.”“Andwho’stomakehim?”She had been scanning the distance, but she now dropped onme a foolish

face.“You,miss.”

“Bywritingtohimthathishouseispoisonedandhislittlenephewandniecemad?”“Butiftheyare,miss?”“And if I ammyself,youmean?That’scharmingnews tobe senthimbya

governesswhoseprimeundertakingwastogivehimnoworry.”Mrs.Groseconsidered,followingthechildrenagain.“Yes,hedohateworry.

Thatwasthegreatreason—”“Why those fiends took him in so long?No doubt, though his indifference

musthavebeenawful.AsI’mnotafiend,atanyrate,Ishouldn’ttakehimin.”Mycompanion,afteraninstantandforallanswer,satdownagainandgrasped

myarm.“Makehimatanyratecometoyou.”Istared.“Tome?”Ihadasuddenfearofwhatshemightdo.“‘Him’?”“Heoughttobehere—heoughttohelp.”Iquicklyrose,andIthinkImusthaveshownheraqueererfacethaneveryet.

“Youseemeaskinghimforavisit?”No,withhereyesonmyfacesheevidentlycouldn’t. Insteadof it even—asawomanreadsanother—shecouldseewhat Imyselfsaw:hisderision,hisamusement,hiscontemptforthebreakdownofmyresignationatbeingleftaloneandforthefinemachineryIhadsetinmotiontoattract his attention tomy slighted charms. She didn’t know—noone knew—howproudIhadbeentoservehimandtosticktoourterms;yetshenonethelesstookthemeasure,Ithink,ofthewarningInowgaveher.“Ifyoushouldsoloseyourheadastoappealtohimforme—”Shewasreallyfrightened.“Yes,miss?”“Iwouldleave,onthespot,bothhimandyou.”

XIIIItwasallverywelltojointhem,butspeakingtothemprovedquiteasmuch

aseveraneffortbeyondmystrength—offered, inclosequarters,difficultiesasinsurmountable as before. This situation continued a month, and with newaggravationsandparticularnotes,thenoteaboveall,sharperandsharper,ofthesmall ironic consciousness on the part ofmy pupils. It was not, I am as suretoday as I was sure then, my mere infernal imagination: it was absolutelytraceablethattheywereawareofmypredicamentandthatthisstrangerelationmade,inamanner,foralongtime,theairinwhichwemoved.Idon’tmeanthattheyhadtheirtonguesintheircheeksordidanythingvulgar,forthatwasnotoneoftheirdangers:Idomean,ontheotherhand,thattheelementoftheunnamedand untouched became, between us, greater than any other, and that somuchavoidancecouldnothavebeensosuccessfullyeffectedwithoutagreatdealoftacit arrangement. It was as if, atmoments, wewere perpetually coming intosightofsubjectsbeforewhichwemuststopshort,turningsuddenlyoutofalleysthatweperceivedtobeblind,closingwithalittlebangthatmadeuslookateachother—for, like all bangs, itwas something louder thanwehad intended—thedoorswehadindiscreetlyopened.AllroadsleadtoRome,andthereweretimeswhen itmight have struck us that almost every branch of study or subject ofconversationskirtedforbiddenground.Forbiddengroundwasthequestionofthereturn of the dead in general and of whatever, in especial, might survive, inmemory, of the friends little children had lost. Therewere dayswhen I couldhaveswornthatoneofthemhad,withasmallinvisiblenudge,saidtotheother:“Shethinksshe’lldoitthistime—butshewon’t!”To“doit”wouldhavebeentoindulge for instance—and for once in away—in some direct reference to theladywho had prepared them formy discipline. They had a delightful endlessappetiteforpassagesinmyownhistory,towhichIhadagainandagaintreatedthem;theywereinpossessionofeverythingthathadeverhappenedtome,hadhad,witheverycircumstancethestoryofmysmallestadventuresandofthoseofmy brothers and sisters and of the cat and the dog at home, aswell asmanyparticularsoftheeccentricnatureofmyfather,ofthefurnitureandarrangementof our house, and of the conversation of the oldwomen of our village.Therewerethingsenough,takingonewithanother,tochatterabout,ifonewentveryfastandknewbyinstinctwhentogoround.Theypulledwithanartoftheirown

thestringsofmyinventionandmymemory;andnothingelseperhaps,whenIthoughtofsuchoccasionsafterward,gavemesothesuspicionofbeingwatchedfromundercover.Itwasinanycaseovermylife,mypast,andmyfriendsalonethat we could take anything like our ease—a state of affairs that led themsometimeswithout the least pertinence to break out into sociable reminders. Iwas invited—with no visible connection—to repeat afresh Goody Gosling’scelebratedmotortoconfirmthedetailsalreadysuppliedastotheclevernessofthevicaragepony.Itwaspartlyatsuchjuncturesastheseandpartlyatquitedifferentonesthat,

with the turnmymatters had now taken,mypredicament, as I have called it,grew most sensible. The fact that the days passed for me without anotherencounter ought, it would have appeared, to have done something towardsoothing my nerves. Since the light brush, that second night on the upperlanding,ofthepresenceofawomanatthefootofthestair,Ihadseennothing,whether in or out of the house, that one had better not have seen. TherewasmanyacornerroundwhichIexpectedtocomeuponQuint,andmanyasituationthat,inamerelysinisterway,wouldhavefavoredtheappearanceofMissJessel.The summerhad turned, the summerhadgone; the autumnhaddroppeduponBlyandhadblownouthalfourlights.Theplace,withitsgrayskyandwitheredgarlands,itsbaredspacesandscattereddeadleaves,waslikeatheateraftertheperformance—all strewnwithcrumpledplaybills.Therewereexactly statesoftheair,conditionsofsoundandofstillness,unspeakableimpressionsofthekindofministeringmoment, that brought back tome, long enough to catch it, thefeelingof themediuminwhich, thatJuneeveningoutofdoors, IhadhadmyfirstsightofQuint,andinwhich,too,atthoseotherinstants,Ihad,afterseeinghim through thewindow, looked for him in vain in the circle of shrubbery. Irecognizedthesigns,theportents—Irecognizedthemoment,thespot.Buttheyremainedunaccompaniedandempty,andIcontinuedunmolested;ifunmolestedonecouldcallayoungwomanwhosesensibilityhad,inthemostextraordinaryfashion,notdeclinedbutdeepened.IhadsaidinmytalkwithMrs.GroseonthathorridsceneofFlora’sbythelake—andhadperplexedherbysosaying—thatitwouldfromthatmomentdistressmemuchmoretolosemypowerthantokeepit.Ihadthenexpressedwhatwasvividlyinmymind:thetruththat,whetherthechildren really saw or not—since, that is, it was not yet definitely proved—Igreatlypreferred,asasafeguard,thefullnessofmyownexposure.Iwasreadyto know the very worst that was to be known.What I had then had an uglyglimpseofwasthatmyeyesmightbesealedjustwhiletheirsweremostopened.Well,myeyesweresealed,itappeared,atpresent—aconsummationforwhichit

seemedblasphemousnottothankGod.Therewas,alas,adifficultyaboutthat:Iwould have thanked him with all my soul had I not had in a proportionatemeasurethisconvictionofthesecretofmypupils.HowcanIretracetodaythestrangestepsofmyobsession?Thereweretimes

ofourbeing togetherwhenIwouldhavebeenready toswear that, literally, inmypresence,butwithmydirectsenseofitclosed,theyhadvisitorswhowereknownandwerewelcome.Thenitwasthat,hadInotbeendeterredbytheverychancethatsuchaninjurymightprovegreaterthantheinjurytobeaverted,myexultation would have broken out. “They’re here, they’re here, you littlewretches,”Iwouldhavecried,“andyoucan’tdenyitnow!”Thelittlewretchesdenied itwithall theaddedvolumeof theirsociabilityand their tenderness, injust the crystal depths of which—like the flash of a fish in a stream—themockeryoftheiradvantagepeepedup.Theshock,intruth,hadsunkintomestilldeeper thanIknewon thenightwhen, lookingout toseeeitherQuintorMissJesselunderthestars,IhadbeheldtheboyoverwhoserestIwatchedandwhohadimmediatelybroughtinwithhim—hadstraightway,there,turneditonme—thelovelyupwardlookwithwhich,fromthebattlementsaboveme,thehideousapparitionofQuinthadplayed.Ifitwasaquestionofascare,mydiscoveryonthisoccasionhadscaredmemorethananyother,anditwasintheconditionofnerves producedby it that Imademy actual inductions.Theyharassedme sothatsometimes,atoddmoments,Ishutmyselfupaudiblytorehearse—itwasatonce a fantastic relief and a renewed despair—the manner in which I mightcome to the point. I approached it from one side and the other while, in myroom,Iflungmyselfabout,butIalwaysbrokedowninthemonstrousutteranceofnames.As theydiedawayonmylips, Isaid tomyself that Ishould indeedhelp them to represent something infamous, if,bypronouncing them, I shouldviolateasrarealittlecaseofinstinctivedelicacyasanyschoolroom,probably,hadeverknown.WhenIsaidtomyself:“Theyhavethemannerstobesilent,andyou, trusted as you are, the baseness to speak!” I felt myself crimson and Icoveredmyfacewithmyhands.AfterthesesecretscenesIchatteredmorethanever, going on volubly enough till one of our prodigious, palpable hushesoccurred—Icancallthemnothingelse—thestrange,dizzyliftorswim(Itryforterms!)intoastillness,apauseofalllife,thathadnothingtodowiththemoreorlessnoisethatat themomentwemightbeengagedinmakingandthatIcouldhearthroughanydeepenedexhilarationorquickenedrecitationorlouderstrumofthepiano.Thenitwasthattheothers,theoutsiders,werethere.Thoughtheywerenotangels,they“passed,”astheFrenchsay,causingme,whiletheystayed,to tremblewith the fear of their addressing to their younger victims some yet

moreinfernalmessageormorevividimagethantheyhadthoughtgoodenoughformyself.Whatitwasmostimpossibletogetridofwasthecruelideathat,whateverI

hadseen,MilesandFlora sawmore—things terrible andunguessable and thatsprangfromdreadfulpassagesof intercourse in thepast.Such thingsnaturallyleft on the surface, for the time, a chillwhichwevociferouslydenied thatwefelt;andwehad,allthree,withrepetition,gotintosuchsplendidtrainingthatwewent,eachtime,almostautomatically,tomarkthecloseoftheincident,throughtheverysamemovements. Itwasstrikingof thechildren,atallevents, tokissme inveteratelywith a kind ofwild irrelevance and never to fail—one or theother—ofthepreciousquestionthathadhelpedusthroughmanyaperil.“Whendo you think hewill come?Don’t you thinkwe ought to write?”—there wasnothing like that inquiry, we found by experience, for carrying off anawkwardness.“He”ofcoursewastheiruncleinHarleyStreet;andwelivedinmuchprofusionof theory thathemightatanymomentarrive tomingle inourcircle.Itwasimpossibletohavegivenlessencouragementthanhehaddonetosuchadoctrine,butifwehadnothadthedoctrinetofallbackuponweshouldhavedeprivedeachotherof someofour finest exhibitions.Heneverwrote tothem—thatmayhavebeenselfish,butitwasapartoftheflatteryofhistrustofme;forthewayinwhichamanpayshishighesttributetoawomanisapttobebutbythemorefestalcelebrationofoneofthesacredlawsofhiscomfort;andIheldthatIcarriedoutthespiritofthepledgegivennottoappealtohimwhenIlet my charges understand that their own letters were but charming literaryexercises.Theyweretoobeautifultobeposted;Ikeptthemmyself;Ihavethemalltothishour.Thiswasaruleindeedwhichonlyaddedtothesatiriceffectofmybeingpliedwiththesuppositionthathemightatanymomentbeamongus.Itwasexactlyasifmychargesknewhowalmostmoreawkwardthananythingelsethatmightbeforme.Thereappearstome,moreover,asIlookback,nonoteinallthismoreextraordinarythanthemerefactthat,inspiteofmytensionandoftheirtriumph,Ineverlostpatiencewiththem.Adorabletheymustintruthhavebeen, Inowreflect, that Ididn’t in thesedayshate them!Wouldexasperation,however,ifreliefhadlongerbeenpostponed,finallyhavebetrayedme?Itlittlematters,forreliefarrived.Icallitrelief,thoughitwasonlythereliefthatasnapbringstoastrainortheburstofathunderstormtoadayofsuffocation.Itwasatleastchange,anditcamewitharush.

XIVWalkingtochurchacertainSundaymorning,IhadlittleMilesatmysideand

hissister,inadvanceofusandatMrs.Grose’s,wellinsight.Itwasacrisp,clearday, thefirstofitsorderforsometime;thenighthadbroughtatouchoffrost,andtheautumnair,brightandsharp,madethechurchbellsalmostgay.Itwasanodd accident of thought that I should have happened at such amoment to beparticularly andverygratefully struckwith theobedienceofmy little charges.Whydidtheyneverresentmyinexorable,myperpetualsociety?Somethingorother had brought nearer home tome that I had all but pinned the boy tomyshawlandthat, inthewayourcompanionsweremarshaledbeforeme,Imighthaveappeared toprovideagainstsomedangerofrebellion. Iwas likeagaolerwith an eye to possible surprises and escapes. But all this belonged—Imeantheirmagnificentlittlesurrender—justtothespecialarrayofthefactsthatweremostabysmal.TurnedoutforSundaybyhisuncle’s tailor,whohadhadafreehandandanotionofprettywaistcoatsandofhisgrandlittleair,Miles’swholetitletoindependence,therightsofhissexandsituation,weresostampeduponhimthatifhehadsuddenlystruckforfreedomIshouldhavehadnothingtosay.Iwasby thestrangestofchanceswonderinghowIshouldmeethimwhen therevolutionunmistakablyoccurred.IcallitarevolutionbecauseInowseehow,with thewordhespoke, thecurtain roseon the lastactofmydreadfuldrama,and the catastrophe was precipitated. “Look here, my dear, you know,” hecharminglysaid,“whenintheworld,please,amIgoingbacktoschool?”Transcribedherethespeechsoundsharmlessenough,particularlyasutteredin

thesweet,high,casualpipewithwhich,atallinterlocutors,butaboveallathiseternalgoverness,hethrewoffintonationsasifheweretossingroses.Therewassomethinginthemthatalwaysmadeone“catch,”andIcaught,atanyrate,nowsoeffectuallythatIstoppedasshortasifoneofthetreesoftheparkhadfallenacrosstheroad.Therewassomethingnew,onthespot,betweenus,andhewasperfectly aware that I recognized it, though, to enableme todo so, hehadnoneedtolookawhitlesscandidandcharmingthanusual.Icouldfeelinhimhowhealready,frommyatfirstfindingnothingtoreply,perceivedtheadvantagehehadgained. Iwas so slow to find anything that he hadplenty of time, after aminute,tocontinuewithhissuggestivebutinconclusivesmile:“Youknow,mydear,thatforafellowtobewithaladyalways—!”His“mydear”wasconstantly

onhislipsforme,andnothingcouldhaveexpressedmoretheexactshadeofthesentimentwithwhichIdesiredtoinspiremypupils thanitsfondfamiliarity.Itwassorespectfullyeasy.But,oh,howI felt thatatpresent Imustpickmyownphrases! I remember

that,togaintime,Itriedtolaugh,andIseemedtoseeinthebeautifulfacewithwhichhewatchedmehowuglyandqueerIlooked.“Andalwayswiththesamelady?”Ireturned.Heneitherblanchednorwinked.Thewhole thingwasvirtuallyoutbetween

us.“Ah,ofcourse,she’sajolly,‘perfect’lady;but,afterall,I’mafellow,don’tyousee?that’s—well,gettingon.”Ilingeredtherewithhimaninstanteversokindly.“Yes,you’regettingon.”

Oh,butIfelthelpless!Ihavekepttothisdaytheheartbreakinglittleideaofhowheseemedtoknow

that and to playwith it. “And you can’t say I’ve not been awfully good, canyou?”I laidmyhandonhis shoulder, for, though I felthowmuchbetter itwould

havebeentowalkon,Iwasnotyetquiteable.“No,Ican’tsaythat,Miles.”“Exceptjustthatonenight,youknow—!”“Thatonenight?”Icouldn’tlookasstraightashe.“Why,whenIwentdown—wentoutofthehouse.”“Oh,yes.ButIforgetwhatyoudiditfor.”“You forget?”—he spokewith the sweet extravagance of childish reproach.

“Why,itwastoshowyouIcould!”“Oh,yes,youcould.”“AndIcanagain.”I felt that Imight, perhaps, after all, succeed inkeepingmywits aboutme.

“Certainly.Butyouwon’t.”“No,notthatagain.Itwasnothing.”“Itwasnothing,”Isaid.“Butwemustgoon.”Heresumedourwalkwithme,passinghishandintomyarm.“Thenwhenam

Igoingback?”Iwore,inturningitover,mymostresponsibleair.“Wereyouveryhappyat

school?”Hejustconsidered.“Oh,I’mhappyenoughanywhere!”“Well,then,”Iquavered,“ifyou’rejustashappyhere—!”

“Ah,butthatisn’teverything!Ofcourseyouknowalot—”“Butyouhintthatyouknowalmostasmuch?”Iriskedashepaused.“NothalfIwantto!”Mileshonestlyprofessed.“Butitisn’tsomuchthat.”“Whatisit,then?”“Well—Iwanttoseemorelife.”“I see; I see.” We had arrived within sight of the church and of various

persons, including several of the household of Bly, on their way to it andclusteredabout thedoor to seeusgo in. Iquickenedour step; Iwanted togetthere before the question between us opened up much further; I reflectedhungrilythat,formorethananhour,hewouldhavetobesilent;andI thoughtwithenvyofthecomparativeduskofthepewandofthealmostspiritualhelpofthehassockonwhichImightbendmyknees.Iseemedliterallytoberunningaracewithsomeconfusiontowhichhewasabouttoreduceme,butIfeltthathehadgotinfirstwhen,beforewehadevenenteredthechurchyard,hethrewout—“Iwantmyownsort!”It literallymademebound forward. “There arenotmanyof yourown sort,

Miles!”Ilaughed.“UnlessperhapsdearlittleFlora!”“Youreallycomparemetoababygirl?”Thisfoundmesingularlyweak.“Don’tyou,then,loveoursweetFlora?”“If I didn’t—and you, too; if I didn’t—!” he repeated as if retreating for a

jump,yetleavinghisthoughtsounfinishedthat,afterwehadcomeintothegate,anotherstop,whichheimposedonmebythepressureofhisarm,hadbecomeinevitable. Mrs. Grose and Flora had passed into the church, the otherworshippers had followed, andwewere, for theminute, alone among theold,thick graves. We had paused, on the path from the gate, by a low, oblong,tableliketomb.“Yes,ifyoudidn’t—?”He looked, while I waited, at the graves. “Well, you know what!” But he

didn’tmove, andhepresentlyproduced something thatmademedrop straightdownonthestoneslab,as ifsuddenlytorest.“Doesmyuncle thinkwhatyouthink?”Imarkedlyrested.“HowdoyouknowwhatIthink?”“Ah,well,ofcourseIdon’t; for itstrikesmeyounever tellme.ButImean

doesheknow?”“Knowwhat,Miles?”

“Why,thewayI’mgoingon.”IperceivedquicklyenoughthatIcouldmake,tothisinquiry,noanswerthat

wouldnot involvesomethingofasacrificeofmyemployer.Yet itappeared tomethatwewereall,atBly,sufficientlysacrificedtomakethatvenial.“Idon’tthinkyourunclemuchcares.”Miles, on this, stood looking atme. “Thendon’t you thinkhe canbemade

to?”“Inwhatway?”“Why,byhiscomingdown.”“Butwho’llgethimtocomedown?”“Iwill!”theboysaidwithextraordinarybrightnessandemphasis.Hegaveme

another look charged with that expression and then marched off alone intochurch.

XVThebusinesswaspracticallysettledfromthemomentIneverfollowedhim.It

wasapitifulsurrendertoagitation,butmybeingawareofthishadsomehownopower to restoreme. Ionlysat thereonmy tomband read intowhatmy littlefriendhadsaidtomethefullnessofitsmeaning;bythetimeIhadgraspedthewholeofwhichIhadalsoembraced,forabsence,thepretextthatIwasashamedto offermypupils and the rest of the congregation such an example of delay.WhatIsaidtomyselfaboveallwasthatMileshadgotsomethingoutofmeandthattheproofofit,forhim,wouldbejustthisawkwardcollapse.HehadgotoutofmethattherewassomethingIwasmuchafraidofandthatheshouldprobablybeabletomakeuseofmyfeartogain,forhisownpurpose,morefreedom.Myfearwas of having to dealwith the intolerable question of the grounds of hisdismissal from school, for that was really but the question of the horrorsgathered behind.That his uncle should arrive to treatwithme of these thingswasasolution that, strictlyspeaking, Ioughtnowtohavedesired tobringon;but I could so little face the ugliness and the pain of it that I simplyprocrastinated and lived from hand to mouth. The boy, to my deepdiscomposure, was immensely in the right, was in a position to say to me:“Either you clear upwithmy guardian themystery of this interruption ofmystudies,oryouceasetoexpectmetoleadwithyoualifethat’ssounnaturalforaboy.”WhatwassounnaturalfortheparticularboyIwasconcernedwithwasthissuddenrevelationofaconsciousnessandaplan.Thatwaswhat really overcameme,what preventedmy going in. I walked

roundthechurch,hesitating,hovering;I reflected that Ihadalready,withhim,hurtmyself beyond repair.Therefore I could patchupnothing, and itwas tooextremeanefforttosqueezebesidehimintothepew:hewouldbesomuchmoresure thanever topasshisarm intomineandmakemesit there foranhour inclose,silentcontactwithhiscommentaryonourtalk.Forthefirstminutesincehis arrival Iwanted to get away fromhim.As I paused beneath the high eastwindowandlistenedtothesoundsofworship,Iwastakenwithanimpulsethatmightmasterme, I felt, completelyshould Igive it the leastencouragement. Imighteasilyputanendtomypredicamentbygettingawayaltogether.Herewasmychance;therewasnoonetostopme;Icouldgivethewholethingup—turnmy back and retreat. It was only a question of hurrying again, for a few

preparations, to the house which the attendance at church of so many of theservantswouldpracticallyhave leftunoccupied.Noone, inshort,couldblamemeifIshouldjustdrivedesperatelyoff.WhatwasittogetawayifIgotawayonlytilldinner?Thatwouldbeinacoupleofhours,attheendofwhich—Ihadtheacuteprevision—my littlepupilswouldplayat innocentwonderaboutmynonappearanceintheirtrain.“Whatdidyoudo,younaughty,badthing?Whyintheworld,toworryusso

—andtakeourthoughtsoff,too,don’tyouknow?—didyoudesertusattheverydoor?”Icouldn’tmeetsuchquestionsnor,astheyaskedthem,theirfalselittlelovely eyes; yet it was all so exactlywhat I should have tomeet that, as theprospectgrewsharptome,Iatlastletmyselfgo.Igot,sofarastheimmediatemomentwasconcerned,away;Icamestraight

outofthechurchyardand,thinkinghard,retracedmystepsthroughthepark.Itseemed tome that by the time I reached the house I hadmadeupmymind Iwould fly. The Sunday stillness both of the approaches and of the interior, inwhichImetnoone,fairlyexcitedmewithasenseofopportunity.WereItogetoff quickly, this way, I should get off without a scene, without a word. Myquickness would have to be remarkable, however, and the question of aconveyancewasthegreatonetosettle.Tormented,inthehall,withdifficultiesandobstacles, I remembersinkingdownat the footof thestaircase—suddenlycollapsing thereon the lowest stepand then,witha revulsion, recalling that itwasexactlywheremorethanamonthbefore,inthedarknessofnightandjustsobowedwithevilthings,Ihadseenthespecterofthemosthorribleofwomen.AtthisIwasabletostraightenmyself;Iwenttherestofthewayup;Imade,inmybewilderment, for the schoolroom, where there were objects belonging tomethat I shouldhave to take.But Iopened thedoor to findagain, ina flash,myeyes unsealed. In the presence of what I saw I reeled straight back uponmyresistance.SeatedatmyowntableinclearnoondaylightIsawapersonwhom,without

my previous experience, I should have taken at the first blush for somehousemaid who might have stayed at home to look after the place and who,availingherselfofrarerelieffromobservationandoftheschoolroomtableandmypens,ink,andpaper,hadappliedherselftotheconsiderableeffortofalettertohersweetheart.Therewasaneffortinthewaythat,whileherarmsrestedonthe table, her hands with evident weariness supported her head; but at themomentItookthisinIhadalreadybecomeawarethat,inspiteofmyentrance,herattitudestrangelypersisted.Thenitwas—withtheveryactofitsannouncingitself—thatheridentityflaredupinachangeofposture.Sherose,notasifshe

hadheardme,butwithan indescribablegrandmelancholyof indifferenceanddetachment,and,withinadozenfeetofme,stoodthereasmyvilepredecessor.Dishonored and tragic, she was all before me; but even as I fixed and, formemory,securedit,theawfulimagepassedaway.Darkasmidnightinherblackdress,herhaggardbeautyandherunutterablewoe, shehad lookedatme longenoughtoappeartosaythatherrighttositatmytablewasasgoodasminetosit at hers.While these instants lasted, indeed, I had the extraordinary chill offeelingthatitwasIwhowastheintruder.Itwasasawildprotestagainstitthat,actually addressing her—“You terrible, miserable woman!”—I heard myselfbreakintoasoundthat,bytheopendoor,rangthroughthelongpassageandtheemptyhouse.Shelookedatmeasifsheheardme,butIhadrecoveredmyselfand cleared the air. There was nothing in the room the next minute but thesunshineandasensethatImuststay.

XVIIhadsoperfectlyexpectedthatthereturnofmypupilswouldbemarkedbya

demonstration that Iwas freshlyupsetathaving to take intoaccount that theywere dumb aboutmy absence. Instead of gaily denouncing and caressingme,theymadenoallusiontomyhavingfailedthem,andIwasleft,forthetime,onperceivingthatshetoosaidnothing,tostudyMrs.Grose’soddface.Ididthistosuch purpose that Imade sure they had in someway bribed her to silence; asilence that, however, I would engage to break down on the first privateopportunity.Thisopportunitycamebeforetea:Isecuredfiveminuteswithherinthe housekeeper’s room, where, in the twilight, amid a smell of lately bakedbread,butwith theplaceallsweptandgarnished, I foundhersitting inpainedplaciditybeforethefire.SoIseeherstill,soIseeherbest:facingtheflamefromher straight chair in the dusky, shining room, a large clean image of the “putaway”—ofdrawersclosedandlockedandrestwithoutaremedy.“Oh,yes,theyaskedmetosaynothing;andtopleasethem—solongasthey

werethere—ofcourseIpromised.Butwhathadhappenedtoyou?”“Ionlywentwithyouforthewalk,”Isaid.“Ihadthentocomebacktomeeta

friend.”Sheshowedhersurprise.“Afriend—you?”“Oh, yes, I have a couple!” I laughed. “But did the children give you a

reason?”“Fornotalludingtoyourleavingus?Yes;theysaidyouwouldlikeitbetter.

Doyoulikeitbetter?”My face hadmade her rueful. “No, I like it worse!” But after an instant I

added:“DidtheysaywhyIshouldlikeitbetter?”“No;MasterMilesonlysaid,‘Wemustdonothingbutwhatshelikes!’”“Iwishindeedhewould.AndwhatdidFlorasay?”“MissFlorawastoosweet.Shesaid,‘Oh,ofcourse,ofcourse!’—andIsaid

thesame.”I thought a moment. “You were too sweet, too—I can hear you all. But

nonetheless,betweenMilesandme,it’snowallout.”“Allout?”Mycompanionstared.“Butwhat,miss?”

“Everything. It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind. I came home, mydear,”Iwenton,“foratalkwithMissJessel.”IhadbythistimeformedthehabitofhavingMrs.Groseliterallywellinhand

inadvanceofmysoundingthatnote;so thatevennow,asshebravelyblinkedunderthesignalofmyword,Icouldkeephercomparativelyfirm.“Atalk!Doyoumeanshespoke?”“Itcametothat.Ifoundher,onmyreturn,intheschoolroom.”“Andwhatdidshesay?”Icanhearthegoodwomanstill,andthecandorof

herstupefaction.“Thatshesuffersthetorments—!”Itwasthis,ofatruth, thatmadeher,asshefilledoutmypicture,gape.“Do

youmean,”shefaltered,“—ofthelost?”“Of the lost. Of the damned. And that’s why, to share them—” I faltered

myselfwiththehorrorofit.Butmycompanion,withlessimagination,keptmeup.“Tosharethem—?”“Shewants Flora.”Mrs.Grosemight, as I gave it to her, fairly have fallen

awayfrommehadInotbeenprepared.Istillheldherthere,toshowIwas.“AsI’vetoldyou,however,itdoesn’tmatter.”“Becauseyou’vemadeupyourmind?Buttowhat?”“Toeverything.”“Andwhatdoyoucall‘everything’?”“Why,sendingfortheiruncle.”“Oh,miss,inpitydo,”myfriendbrokeout.“ah,butIwill,Iwill!Iseeit’sthe

onlyway.What’s‘out,’asItoldyou,withMilesisthatifhethinksI’mafraidto—andhasideasofwhathegainsbythat—heshallseehe’smistaken.Yes,yes;hisuncleshallhaveitherefrommeonthespot(andbeforetheboyhimself,ifnecessary) that if I’m to be reproachedwith having done nothing again aboutmoreschool—”“Yes,miss—”mycompanionpressedme.“Well,there’sthatawfulreason.”Therewerenowclearlysomanyoftheseformypoorcolleaguethatshewas

excusableforbeingvague.“But—a—which?”“Why,theletterfromhisoldplace.”“You’llshowittothemaster?”“Ioughttohavedonesoontheinstant.”

“Oh,no!”saidMrs.Grosewithdecision.“I’llputitbeforehim,”Iwentoninexorably,“thatIcan’tundertaketowork

thequestiononbehalfofachildwhohasbeenexpelled—”“Forwe’veneverintheleastknownwhat!”Mrs.Grosedeclared.“For wickedness. For what else—when he’s so clever and beautiful and

perfect?Ishestupid?Isheuntidy?Isheinfirm?Isheill-natured?He’sexquisite—so itcanbeonly that;and thatwouldopenup thewhole thing.Afterall,” Isaid,“it’stheiruncle’sfault.Ifheleftheresuchpeople—!”“Hedidn’t really in the leastknow them.The fault’smine.”Shehad turned

quitepale.“Well,youshan’tsuffer,”Ianswered.“Thechildrenshan’t!”sheemphaticallyreturned.Iwassilentawhile;welookedateachother.“ThenwhatamItotellhim?”“Youneedn’ttellhimanything.I’lltellhim.”Imeasuredthis.“Doyoumeanyou’llwrite—?”Rememberingshecouldn’t,I

caughtmyselfup.“Howdoyoucommunicate?”“Itellthebailiff.Hewrites.”“Andshouldyoulikehimtowriteourstory?”Myquestionhadasarcastic force that Ihadnot fully intended,and itmade

her, after amoment, inconsequently break down. The tearswere again in hereyes.“Ah,miss,youwrite!”“Well—tonight,”Iatlastanswered;andonthisweseparated.

XVIII went so far, in the evening, as to make a beginning. The weather had

changedback,agreatwindwasabroad,andbeneaththelamp,inmyroom,withFloraatpeacebesideme,Isatforalongtimebeforeablanksheetofpaperandlistened to the lash of the rain and the batter of the gusts. Finally Iwent out,taking a candle; I crossed the passage and listened a minute atMiles’s door.What,undermyendlessobsession, Ihadbeen impelled to listenforwassomebetrayalofhisnotbeingatrest,andIpresentlycaughtone,butnotintheformIhadexpected.Hisvoicetinkledout.“Isay,youthere—comein.”Itwasagaietyinthegloom!Iwent inwithmy light and found him, in bed, verywide awake, but very

much at his ease. “Well, what are you up to?” he asked with a grace ofsociability inwhich it occurred tome thatMrs. Grose, had she been present,mighthavelookedinvainforproofthatanythingwas“out.”Istoodoverhimwithmycandle.“HowdidyouknowIwasthere?”“Why,ofcourseIheardyou.Didyoufancyyoumadenonoise?You’relikea

troopofcavalry!”hebeautifullylaughed.“Thenyouweren’tasleep?”“Notmuch!Ilieawakeandthink.”Ihadputmycandle,designedly,ashortwayoff,andthen,asheheldouthis

friendlyold hand tome, had sat downon the edgeof his bed. “What is it,” Iasked,“thatyouthinkof?”“Whatintheworld,mydear,butyou?”“Ah,theprideI takeinyourappreciationdoesn’t insistonthat!Ihadsofar

ratheryouslept.”“Well,Ithinkalso,youknow,ofthisqueerbusinessofours.”Imarkedthecoolnessofhisfirmlittlehand.“Ofwhatqueerbusiness,Miles?”“Why,thewayyoubringmeup.Andalltherest!”I fairlyheldmybreath aminute, andeven frommyglimmering taper there

waslightenoughtoshowhowhesmiledupatmefromhispillow.“Whatdoyoumeanbyalltherest?”

“Oh,youknow,youknow!”Icouldsaynothingforaminute,thoughIfelt,asIheldhishandandoureyes

continuedtomeet,thatmysilencehadalltheairofadmittinghischargeandthatnothinginthewholeworldofrealitywasperhapsatthatmomentsofabulousasouractualrelation.“Certainlyyoushallgobacktoschool,”Isaid,“ifitbethatthattroublesyou.Butnottotheoldplace—wemustfindanother,abetter.HowcouldIknowitdidtroubleyou,thisquestion,whenyounevertoldmeso,neverspoke of it at all?” His clear, listening face, framed in its smooth whiteness,made him for theminute as appealing as somewistful patient in a children’shospital;andIwouldhavegiven,astheresemblancecametome,allIpossessedonearthreallytobethenurseorthesisterofcharitywhomighthavehelpedtocure him.Well, even as it was, I perhapsmight help! “Do you know you’venever said a word to me about your school—I mean the old one; nevermentioneditinanyway?”He seemed to wonder; he smiled with the same loveliness. But he clearly

gainedtime;hewaited,hecalledforguidance.“Haven’tI?”Itwasn’tformetohelphim—itwasforthethingIhadmet!Somethinginhistoneandtheexpressionofhisface,asIgotthisfromhim,

setmyheartachingwithsuchapangasithadneveryetknown;sounutterablytouchingwas it to see his little brain puzzled and his little resources taxed toplay,underthespelllaidonhim,apartofinnocenceandconsistency.“No,never—from the hour you came back. You’ve nevermentioned tome one of yourmasters, oneof your comrades, nor the least little thing that ever happened toyouatschool.Never,littleMiles—no,never—haveyougivenmeaninklingofanythingthatmayhavehappenedthere.ThereforeyoucanfancyhowmuchI’minthedark.Untilyoucameout,thatway,thismorning,youhad,sincethefirsthourIsawyou,scarceevenmadeareferencetoanythinginyourpreviouslife.You seemed so perfectly to accept the present.” Itwas extraordinary howmyabsoluteconvictionofhissecretprecocity(orwhateverImightcall thepoisonofan influence that Idaredbuthalf tophrase)madehim, in spiteof the faintbreathofhisinwardtrouble,appearasaccessibleasanolderperson—imposedhimalmostasanintellectualequal.“Ithoughtyouwantedtogoonasyouare.”It struckme that at this he just faintly colored.He gave, at any rate, like a

convalescentslightlyfatigued,alanguidshakeofhishead.“Idon’t—Idon’t.Iwanttogetaway.”“You’retiredofBly?”“Oh,no,IlikeBly.”

“Well,then—?”“Oh,youknowwhataboywants!”IfeltthatIdidn’tknowsowellasMiles,andItooktemporaryrefuge.“You

wanttogotoyouruncle?”Again,atthis,withhissweetironicface,hemadeamovementonthepillow.

“Ah,youcan’tgetoffwiththat!”Iwassilentalittle,anditwasI,now,Ithink,whochangedcolor.“Mydear,I

don’twanttogetoff!”“Youcan’t,evenifyoudo.Youcan’t,youcan’t!”—helaybeautifullystaring.

“Myunclemustcomedown,andyoumustcompletelysettlethings.”“Ifwedo,”Ireturnedwithsomespirit,“youmaybesureitwillbetotakeyou

quiteaway.”“Well,don’tyouunderstandthatthat’sexactlywhatI’mworkingfor?You’ll

havetotellhim—aboutthewayyou’veletitalldrop:you’llhavetotellhimatremendouslot!”Theexultationwithwhichheutteredthishelpedmesomehow,fortheinstant,

tomeet him rathermore. “And howmuchwill you,Miles, have to tell him?Therearethingshe’llaskyou!”Heturneditover.“Verylikely.Butwhatthings?”“Thethingsyou’venevertoldme.Tomakeuphismindwhattodowithyou.

Hecan’tsendyouback—”“Oh,Idon’twanttogoback!”hebrokein.“Iwantanewfield.”He said itwith admirable serenity,with positive unimpeachable gaiety; and

doubtless it was that very note that most evoked for me the poignancy, theunnatural childish tragedy, of his probable reappearance at the end of threemonthswithall thisbravadoand stillmoredishonor. It overwhelmedmenowthat Ishouldneverbeable tobear that,and itmademe letmyselfgo. I threwmyselfuponhimandinthetendernessofmypityIembracedhim.“DearlittleMiles,dearlittleMiles—!”My face was close to his, and he let me kiss him, simply taking it with

indulgentgoodhumor.“Well,oldlady?”“Istherenothing—nothingatallthatyouwanttotellme?”Heturnedoffalittle,facingroundtowardthewallandholdinguphishandto

look at as one had seen sick children look. “I’ve told you—I told you thismorning.”

Oh,Iwassorryforhim!“Thatyoujustwantmenottoworryyou?”He looked round atme now, as if in recognition ofmy understanding him;

theneversogently,“Toletmealone,”hereplied.Therewasevenasingularlittledignityinit,somethingthatmademerelease

him,yet,whenIhadslowlyrisen,lingerbesidehim.GodknowsIneverwishedto harass him, but I felt that merely, at this, to turn my back on him was toabandonor, to put itmore truly, to lose him. “I’ve just begun a letter to youruncle,”Isaid.“Well,then,finishit!”Iwaitedaminute.“Whathappenedbefore?”Hegazedupatmeagain.“Beforewhat?”“Beforeyoucameback.Andbeforeyouwentaway.”For some time he was silent, but he continued to meet my eyes. “What

happened?”Itmademe,thesoundofthewords,inwhichitseemedtomethatIcaughtfor

theveryfirsttimeasmallfaintquaverofconsentingconsciousness—itmademedroponmykneesbesidethebedandseizeoncemorethechanceofpossessinghim.“DearlittleMiles,dearlittleMiles,ifyouknewhowIwanttohelpyou!It’sonlythat,it’snothingbutthat,andI’dratherdiethangiveyouapainordoyouawrong—I’dratherdiethanhurtahairofyou.DearlittleMiles”—oh,IbroughtitoutnowevenifIshouldgotoofar—“Ijustwantyoutohelpmetosaveyou!”But I knew in amoment after this that I had gone too far.The answer tomyappealwasinstantaneous,butitcameintheformofanextraordinaryblastandchill,agustoffrozenair,andashakeoftheroomasgreatasif,inthewildwind,thecasementhadcrashedin.Theboygavealoud,highshriek,which,lostintherest of the shock of sound, might have seemed, indistinctly, though I was soclose tohim,anoteeitherof jubilationorof terror. I jumped tomyfeetagainandwas conscious of darkness. So for amomentwe remained,while I staredaboutmeandsawthatthedrawncurtainswereunstirredandthewindowtight.“Why,thecandle’sout!”Ithencried.“ItwasIwhoblewit,dear!”saidMiles.

XVIIIThenextday,afterlessons,Mrs.Grosefoundamomenttosaytomequietly:

“Haveyouwritten,miss?”“Yes—I’vewritten.” But I didn’t add—for the hour—thatmy letter, sealed

and directed, was still in my pocket. There would be time enough to send itbeforethemessengershouldgotothevillage.Meanwhiletherehadbeen,onthepartofmypupils,nomorebrilliant,moreexemplarymorning.Itwasexactlyasif they had both had at heart to gloss over any recent little friction. Theyperformedthedizziestfeatsofarithmetic,soaringquiteoutofmyfeeblerange,andperpetrated,inhigherspiritsthanever,geographicalandhistoricaljokes.Itwas conspicuous of course inMiles in particular that he appeared to wish toshowhoweasilyhecouldletmedown.Thischild,tomymemory,reallylivesinasettingofbeautyandmiserythatnowordscantranslate;therewasadistinctionallhisownineveryimpulseherevealed;neverwasasmallnaturalcreature,tothe uninitiated eye all frankness and freedom, a more ingenious, a moreextraordinarylittlegentleman.Ihadperpetuallytoguardagainstthewonderofcontemplationintowhichmyinitiatedviewbetrayedme;tochecktheirrelevantgazeanddiscouragedsighinwhichIconstantlybothattackedandrenouncedtheenigmaofwhatsuchalittlegentlemancouldhavedonethatdeservedapenalty.Saythat,bythedarkprodigyIknew,theimaginationofallevilhadbeenopeneduptohim:all the justicewithinmeachedfor theproof that itcouldeverhavefloweredintoanact.Hehadnever,atanyrate,beensuchalittlegentlemanaswhen,afterourearly

dinneron thisdreadfulday,hecameroundtomeandasked if Ishouldn’t likehim, for half an hour, to play tome.David playing to Saul could never haveshownafinersenseoftheoccasion.Itwasliterallyacharmingexhibitionoftact,ofmagnanimity,andquite tantamount tohissayingoutright:“Thetrueknightswelovetoreadaboutneverpushanadvantagetoofar.Iknowwhatyoumeannow:youmeanthat—tobeletaloneyourselfandnotfollowedup—you’llceasetoworryandspyuponme,won’tkeepmesoclose toyou,will letmegoandcome.Well, I ‘come,’ you see—but I don’t go!There’ll be plenty of time forthat. I do really delight in your society, and I only want to show you that Icontendedforaprinciple.”ItmaybeimaginedwhetherIresistedthisappealorfailedtoaccompanyhimagain,handinhand,totheschoolroom.Hesatdownat

theoldpianoandplayedashehadneverplayed;andiftherearethosewhothinkhehadbetterhavebeenkickingafootballIcanonlysaythatIwhollyagreewiththem. For at the end of a time that under his influence I had quite ceased tomeasure,Istartedupwithastrangesenseofhavingliterallysleptatmypost.Itwasafter luncheon, andby the schoolroom fire, andyet I hadn’t really, in theleast,slept:Ihadonlydonesomethingmuchworse—Ihadforgotten.Where,allthis time,wasFlora?WhenIput thequestiontoMiles,heplayedonaminutebeforeansweringandthencouldonlysay:“Why,mydear,howdoIknow?”—breakingmoreoverintoahappylaughwhich,immediatelyafter,asif itwereavocalaccompaniment,heprolongedintoincoherent,extravagantsong.Iwent straight tomy room, but his sisterwas not there; then, before going

downstairs, I looked intoseveralothers.AsshewasnowhereaboutshewouldsurelybewithMrs.Grose,whom, in the comfortof that theory, I accordinglyproceededinquestof.IfoundherwhereIhadfoundhertheeveningbefore,butshe met my quick challenge with blank, scared ignorance. She had onlysupposed that,after the repast, Ihadcarriedoffboth thechildren;as towhichshewasquiteinherright,for itwastheveryfirst timeIhadallowedthelittlegirloutofmysightwithoutsomespecialprovision.Ofcoursenowindeedshemightbewiththemaids,sothattheimmediatethingwastolookforherwithoutanairofalarm.Thiswepromptlyarrangedbetweenus;butwhen, tenminuteslater and in pursuance of our arrangement,wemet in the hall, itwas only toreportoneithersidethatafterguardedinquirieswehadaltogetherfailedtotraceher.Foraminutethere,apartfromobservation,weexchangedmutealarms,andIcouldfeelwithwhathighinterestmyfriendreturnedmeallthoseIhadfromthefirstgivenher.“She’ll be above,” she presently said—“in one of the rooms you haven’t

searched.”“No;she’satadistance.”Ihadmadeupmymind.“Shehasgoneout.”Mrs.Grosestared.“Withoutahat?”Inaturallyalsolookedvolumes.“Isn’tthatwomanalwayswithoutone?”“She’swithher?”“She’swithher!”Ideclared.“Wemustfindthem.”Myhandwasonmyfriend’sarm,butshefailedforthemoment,confronted

withsuchanaccountofthematter,torespondtomypressure.Shecommuned,onthecontrary,onthespot,withheruneasiness.“Andwhere’sMasterMiles?”“Oh,he’swithQuint.They’reintheschoolroom.”

“Lord,miss!”Myview,Iwasmyselfaware—andthereforeIsupposemytone—hadneveryetreachedsocalmanassurance.“Thetrick’splayed,”Iwenton;“they’vesuccessfullyworkedtheirplan.He

foundthemostdivinelittlewaytokeepmequietwhileshewentoff.”“‘Divine’?”Mrs.Grosebewilderedlyechoed.“Infernal,then!”Ialmostcheerfullyrejoined.“Hehasprovidedforhimselfas

well.Butcome!”Shehadhelplesslygloomedattheupperregions.“Youleavehim—?”“SolongwithQuint?Yes—Idon’tmindthatnow.”Shealwaysended,atthesemoments,bygettingpossessionofmyhand,andin

thismannershecouldatpresentstillstayme.Butaftergaspinganinstantatmysuddenresignation,“Becauseofyourletter?”sheeagerlybroughtout.Iquickly,bywayofanswer, felt formy letter,drew it forth,held itup,and

then,freeingmyself,wentandlaiditonthegreathalltable.“Lukewilltakeit,”IsaidasIcameback.Ireachedthehousedoorandopenedit;Iwasalreadyonthesteps.Mycompanion still demurred: the stormof thenight and theearlymorning

haddropped, but the afternoonwas damp andgray. I camedown to the drivewhileshestoodinthedoorway.“Yougowithnothingon?”“Whatdo I carewhen thechildhasnothing? I can’twait todress,” I cried,

“andifyoumustdoso,Ileaveyou.Trymeanwhile,yourself,upstairs.”“Withthem?”Oh,onthis,thepoorwomanpromptlyjoinedme!

XIXWewent straight to the lake, as it was called at Bly, and I daresay rightly

called, though I reflect that it may in fact have been a sheet of water lessremarkablethanitappearedtomyuntraveledeyes.Myacquaintancewithsheetsofwaterwassmall,andthepoolofBly,atalleventsonthefewoccasionsofmyconsenting, under the protection ofmypupils, to affront its surface in the oldflat-bottomed boatmoored there for our use, had impressedme both with itsextentanditsagitation.Theusualplaceofembarkationwashalfamilefromthehouse,butIhadanintimateconvictionthat,whereverFloramightbe,shewasnotnearhome.Shehadnotgivenmetheslipforanysmalladventure,and,sincethedayoftheverygreatonethatIhadsharedwithherbythepond,Ihadbeenaware,inourwalks,ofthequartertowhichshemostinclined.ThiswaswhyIhad now given toMrs. Grose’s steps somarked a direction—a direction thatmadeher,when sheperceived it, opposea resistance that showedme shewasfreshlymystified.“You’regoingtothewater,Miss?—youthinkshe’sin—?”“Shemaybe, thoughthedepth is, Ibelieve,nowhereverygreat.ButwhatI

judgemost likely is that she’s on the spot fromwhich, the other day,we sawtogetherwhatItoldyou.”“Whenshepretendednottosee—?”“Withthatastoundingself-possession?I’vealwaysbeensureshewantedtogo

backalone.Andnowherbrotherhasmanageditforher.”Mrs.Grosestillstoodwhereshehadstopped.“Yousupposetheyreallytalkof

them?”“Icouldmeetthiswithaconfidence!Theysaythingsthat,ifweheardthem,

wouldsimplyappallus.”“Andifsheisthere—”“Yes?”“ThenMissJesselis?”“Beyondadoubt.Youshallsee.”“Oh, thank you!”my friend cried, planted so firm that, taking it in, Iwent

straightonwithouther.BythetimeIreachedthepool,however,shewasclosebehindme,andIknewthat,whatever,toherapprehension,mightbefallme,the

exposureofmy society struckher as her least danger.She exhaled amoanofreliefasweatlastcameinsightofthegreaterpartofthewaterwithoutasightofthechild.TherewasnotraceofFloraonthatnearersideofthebankwheremyobservation of her had been most startling, and none on the opposite edge,where,saveforamarginofsometwentyyards,athickcopsecamedowntothewater.Thepond,oblong inshape,hadawidthsoscantcompared to its lengththat,with its ends out of view, itmight have been taken for a scant river.Welookedattheemptyexpanse,andthenIfeltthesuggestionofmyfriend’seyes.IknewwhatshemeantandIrepliedwithanegativeheadshake.“No,no;wait!Shehastakentheboat.”Mycompanionstaredat thevacantmooringplaceand thenagainacross the

lake.“Thenwhereisit?”“Ournotseeing it is thestrongestofproofs.Shehasused it togoover,and

thenhasmanagedtohideit.”“Allalone—thatchild?”“She’s not alone, and at such times she’s not a child: she’s an old, old

woman.” I scannedall thevisible shorewhileMrs.Grose tookagain, into thequeerelementIofferedher,oneofherplungesofsubmission;thenIpointedoutthattheboatmightperfectlybeinasmallrefugeformedbyoneoftherecessesof the pool, an indentationmasked, for the hither side, by a projection of thebankandbyaclumpoftreesgrowingclosetothewater.“Butiftheboat’sthere,whereonearth’sshe?”mycolleagueanxiouslyasked.“That’sexactlywhatwemustlearn.”AndIstartedtowalkfurther.“Bygoingallthewayround?”“Certainly, faras it is. Itwill takeusbut tenminutes,but it’s farenough to

havemadethechildprefernottowalk.Shewentstraightover.”“Laws!”criedmyfriendagain;thechainofmylogicwasevertoomuchfor

her.Itdraggedheratmyheelsevennow,andwhenwehadgothalfwayround—adevious,tiresomeprocess,ongroundmuchbrokenandbyapathchokedwithovergrowth—I paused to give her breath. I sustained herwith a grateful arm,assuringherthatshemighthugelyhelpme;andthisstartedusafresh,sothatinthecourseofbutfewminutesmorewereachedapointfromwhichwefoundtheboat to bewhere I had supposed it. It had been intentionally left asmuch aspossibleoutofsightandwastiedtooneofthestakesofafencethatcame,justthere, down to the brink and that had been an assistance to disembarking. Irecognized,asIlookedatthepairofshort,thickoars,quitesafelydrawnup,the

prodigiouscharacterofthefeatforalittlegirl;butIhadlived,bythistime,toolongamongwondersandhadpantedtotoomanyliveliermeasures.Therewasagateinthefence,throughwhichwepassed,andthatbroughtus,afteratriflinginterval,moreintotheopen.Then,“Theresheis!”webothexclaimedatonce.Flora, a short way off, stood before us on the grass and smiled as if her

performancewasnowcomplete.Thenextthingshedid,however,wastostoopstraightdownandpluck—quiteas if itwereallshewas therefor—abig,uglyspray of withered fern. I instantly became sure she had just come out of thecopse.Shewaited forus,notherself takingastep,and Iwasconsciousof theraresolemnitywithwhichwepresentlyapproachedher.Shesmiledandsmiled,andwemet;butitwasalldoneinasilencebythistimeflagrantlyominous.Mrs.Grose was the first to break the spell: she threw herself on her knees and,drawing the child to her breast, clasped in a long embrace the little tender,yieldingbody.WhilethisdumbconvulsionlastedIcouldonlywatchit—whichIdidthemoreintentlywhenIsawFlora’sfacepeepatmeoverourcompanion’sshoulder.Itwasseriousnow—theflickerhadleftit;butitstrengthenedthepangwithwhich I at thatmoment enviedMrs.Grose the simplicityofher relation.Still,allthiswhile,nothingmorepassedbetweenussavethatFlorahadletherfoolishfernagaindroptotheground.WhatsheandIhadvirtuallysaidtoeachotherwas thatpretextswereuselessnow.WhenMrs.Grose finallygotupshekept the child’s hand, so that the two were still before me; and the singularreticence of our communion was even more marked in the frank look shelaunchedme.“I’llbehanged,”itsaid,“ifI’llspeak!”ItwasFlorawho,gazingallovermeincandidwonder,wasthefirst.Shewas

struckwithourbareheadedaspect.“Why,whereareyourthings?”“Whereyoursare,mydear!”Ipromptlyreturned.Shehadalreadygotbackhergaiety,andappeared to take thisasananswer

quitesufficient.“Andwhere’sMiles?”shewenton.Therewassomethinginthesmallvalorofitthatquitefinishedme:thesethree

wordsfromherwere,inaflashliketheglitterofadrawnblade,thejostleofthecupthatmyhand,forweeksandweeks,hadheldhighandfulltothebrimthatnow,evenbeforespeaking,Ifeltoverflowinadeluge.“I’lltellyouifyou’lltellme—”Iheardmyselfsay,thenheardthetremorinwhichitbroke.“Well,what?”Mrs.Grose’ssuspenseblazedatme,butitwastoolatenow,andIbroughtthe

thingouthandsomely.“Where,mypet,isMissJessel?”

XXJustasinthechurchyardwithMiles,thewholethingwasuponus.MuchasI

hadmadeofthefactthatthisnamehadneveronce,betweenus,beensounded,thequick,smittenglarewithwhichthechild’sfacenowreceiveditfairlylikenedmy breach of the silence to the smash of a pane of glass. It added to theinterposing cry, as if to stay the blow, that Mrs. Grose, at the same instant,uttered overmyviolence—the shriek of a creature scared, or ratherwounded,which, in turn,within a few seconds,was completed by a gasp ofmy own. Iseizedmycolleague’sarm.“She’sthere,she’sthere!”MissJesselstoodbeforeusontheoppositebankexactlyasshehadstoodthe

othertime,andIremember,strangely,asthefirstfeelingnowproducedinme,mythrillofjoyathavingbroughtonaproof.Shewasthere,andIwasjustified;shewas there,and Iwasneithercruelnormad.Shewas there forpoorscaredMrs.Grose,butshewastheremostforFlora;andnomomentofmymonstroustimewasperhapssoextraordinaryasthatinwhichIconsciouslythrewouttoher—withthesensethat,paleandravenousdemonasshewas,shewouldcatchandunderstand it—an inarticulatemessageof gratitude.She rose erect on the spotmyfriendandIhadlatelyquitted,andtherewasnot,inallthelongreachofherdesire, an inch of her evil that fell short. This first vividness of vision andemotionwere thingsofa fewseconds,duringwhichMrs.Grose’sdazedblinkacrosstowhereIpointedstruckmeasasovereignsignthatshetooatlastsaw,justas itcarriedmyowneyesprecipitatelytothechild.Therevelationthenofthemanner inwhichFlorawas affected startledme, in truth, farmore than itwould have done to find her also merely agitated, for direct dismay was ofcoursenotwhat Ihadexpected.Preparedandonherguardasourpursuithadactuallymadeher,shewouldrepresseverybetrayal;andIwasthereforeshaken,on the spot, by my first glimpse of the particular one for which I had notallowed.Toseeher,withoutaconvulsionofhersmallpinkface,notevenfeigntoglancein thedirectionof theprodigyIannounced,butonly, insteadof that,turnatmeanexpressionofhard,stillgravity,anexpressionabsolutelynewandunprecedentedand thatappeared toreadandaccuseandjudgeme—thiswasastrokethatsomehowconvertedthelittlegirlherself intotheverypresencethatcouldmakeme quail. I quailed even thoughmy certitude that she thoroughlysawwasnevergreaterthanatthatinstant,andintheimmediateneedtodefend

myselfIcalleditpassionatelytowitness.“She’sthere,youlittleunhappything—there,there,there,andyouseeheraswellasyouseeme!”Ihadsaidshortlybefore toMrs. Grose that she was not at these times a child, but an old, oldwoman, and that description of her could not have been more strikinglyconfirmed than in theway inwhich, forallanswer to this, shesimplyshowedme,without a concession, an admission, of her eyes, a countenance of deeperanddeeper,ofindeedsuddenlyquitefixed,reprobation.Iwasbythistime—ifIcanput thewhole thingatall together—moreappalledatwhat Imayproperlycallhermannerthanatanythingelse,thoughitwassimultaneouslywiththisthatIbecameawareofhavingMrs.Grosealso,andveryformidably,toreckonwith.Myelder companion, thenextmoment, at any rate,blottedout everythingbutherownflushedfaceandherloud,shockedprotest,aburstofhighdisapproval.“Whatadreadfulturn,tobesure,miss!Whereonearthdoyouseeanything?”Icouldonlygrasphermorequicklyyet,forevenwhileshespokethehideous

plainpresencestoodundimmedandundaunted. Ithadalready lastedaminute,anditlastedwhileIcontinued,seizingmycolleague,quitethrustingheratitandpresentinghertoit,toinsistwithmypointinghand.“Youdon’tseeherexactlyaswe see?—youmean to sayyoudon’tnow—now?She’sasbigasablazingfire!Only look,dearestwoman, look—!”She looked, even as I did, andgaveme,withherdeepgroanofnegation, repulsion,compassion—themixturewithherpityofherreliefatherexemption—asense,touchingtomeeventhen,thatshewouldhavebackedmeup ifshecould. Imightwellhaveneeded that, forwiththishardblowof theproofthathereyeswerehopelesslysealedIfeltmyownsituationhorriblycrumble,Ifelt—Isaw—mylividpredecessorpress,fromherposition,onmydefeat,andIwasconscious,morethanall,ofwhatIshouldhavefromthisinstanttodealwithintheastoundinglittleattitudeofFlora.IntothisattitudeMrs.Groseimmediatelyandviolentlyentered,breaking,evenwhilethere pierced through my sense of ruin a prodigious private triumph, intobreathlessreassurance.“She isn’t there, little lady,andnobody’s there—andyounever seenothing,

my sweet! How can poor Miss Jessel—when poor Miss Jessel’s dead andburied?We know, don’t we, love?”—and she appealed, blundering in, to thechild.“It’sallameremistakeandaworryandajoke—andwe’llgohomeasfastaswecan!”Our companion, on this, had responded with a strange, quick primness of

propriety,andtheywereagain,withMrs.Groseonherfeet,united,asitwere,inpained opposition to me. Flora continued to fix me with her small mask ofreprobation,andevenatthatminuteIprayedGodtoforgivemeforseemingto

seethat,asshestoodthereholdingtighttoourfriend’sdress,herincomparablechildishbeautyhadsuddenlyfailed,hadquitevanished.I’vesaiditalready—shewasliterally,shewashideously,hard;shehadturnedcommonandalmostugly.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.Iseenobody.Iseenothing.Ineverhave.Ithinkyou’recruel. Idon’t likeyou!”Then,after thisdeliverance,whichmighthavebeenthatofavulgarlypertlittlegirlinthestreet,shehuggedMrs.Grosemoreclosely and buried in her skirts the dreadful little face. In this position sheproducedanalmost furiouswail. “Takemeaway, takemeaway—oh, takemeawayfromher!”“Fromme?”Ipanted.“Fromyou—fromyou!”shecried.EvenMrs.Groselookedacrossatmedismayed,whileIhadnothingtodobut

communicate again with the figure that, on the opposite bank, without amovement,asrigidlystillasifcatching,beyondtheinterval,ourvoices,wasasvividly there formydisaster as itwasnot there formy service.Thewretchedchildhadspokenexactlyasifshehadgotfromsomeoutsidesourceeachofherstabbing littlewords, and I could therefore, in the full despair of all I had toaccept, but sadly shakemy head at her. “If I had ever doubted, allmy doubtwouldatpresenthavegone.I’vebeenlivingwiththemiserabletruth,andnowithasonlytoomuchclosedroundme.OfcourseI’velostyou:I’veinterfered,andyou’veseen—underherdictation”—withwhichIfaced,overthepoolagain,ourinfernalwitness—“theeasyandperfectway tomeet it. I’vedonemybest,butI’velostyou.Goodbye.”ForMrs.GroseIhadanimperative,analmostfrantic“Go,go!”beforewhich,ininfinitedistress,butmutelypossessedofthelittlegirland clearly convinced, in spite of her blindness, that something awful hadoccurredandsomecollapseengulfedus,sheretreated,bythewaywehadcome,asfastasshecouldmove.OfwhatfirsthappenedwhenIwasleftaloneIhadnosubsequentmemory.I

only knew that at the end of, I suppose, a quarter of an hour, an odorousdampness and roughness, chilling and piercing my trouble, had made meunderstandthatImusthavethrownmyself,onmyface,onthegroundandgivenwaytoawildnessofgrief.Imusthavelaintherelongandcriedandsobbed,forwhenIraisedmyheadthedaywasalmostdone.Igotupandlookedamoment,through the twilight, at the gray pool and its blank, haunted edge, and then Itook,backtothehouse,mydrearyanddifficultcourse.WhenIreachedthegateinthefencetheboat,tomysurprise,wasgone,sothatIhadafreshreflectiontomakeonFlora’sextraordinarycommandofthesituation.Shepassedthatnight,bythemosttacit,andIshouldadd,werenotthewordsogrotesqueafalsenote,

the happiest of arrangements, withMrs. Grose. I saw neither of them onmyreturn,but,ontheotherhand,asbyanambiguouscompensation,IsawagreatdealofMiles.Isaw—Icanusenootherphrase—somuchofhimthatitwasasifit were more than it had ever been. No evening I had passed at Bly had theportentousqualityofthisone;inspiteofwhich—andinspitealsoofthedeeperdepthsofconsternationthathadopenedbeneathmyfeet—therewasliterally,intheebbingactual,anextraordinarilysweetsadness.OnreachingthehouseIhadneversomuchaslookedfortheboy;IhadsimplygonestraighttomyroomtochangewhatIwaswearingandtotakein,ataglance,muchmaterialtestimonytoFlora’srupture.Herlittlebelongingshadallbeenremoved.Whenlater,bytheschoolroom fire, I was served with tea by the usual maid, I indulged, on thearticleofmyotherpupil,innoinquirywhatever.Hehadhisfreedomnow—hemighthaveittotheend!Well,hedidhaveit;anditconsisted—inpartatleast—ofhiscominginatabouteighto’clockandsittingdownwithmeinsilence.Onthe removalof the tea things Ihadblownout thecandlesanddrawnmychaircloser:IwasconsciousofamortalcoldnessandfeltasifIshouldneveragainbewarm. So,when he appeared, Iwas sitting in the glowwithmy thoughts.Hepausedamomentby thedooras if to lookatme; then—as if toshare them—came to the other side of the hearth and sank into a chair. We sat there inabsolutestillness;yethewanted,Ifelt,tobewithme.

XXIBefore a new day, inmy room, had fully broken,my eyes opened toMrs.

Grose,whohadcome tomybedsidewithworsenews.Florawassomarkedlyfeverishthatanillnesswasperhapsathand;shehadpassedanightofextremeunrest, a night agitated above all by fears that had for their subject not in theleast her former, but wholly her present, governess. It was not against thepossible re-entrance of Miss Jessel on the scene that she protested—it wasconspicuously and passionately against mine. I was promptly on my feet ofcourse, and with an immense deal to ask; the more that my friend haddiscerniblynowgirdedherloinstomeetmeoncemore.ThisIfeltassoonasIhad put to her the question of her sense of the child’s sincerity as againstmyown.“Shepersistsindenyingtoyouthatshesaw,orhaseverseen,anything?”Myvisitor’s trouble, truly,wasgreat.“Ah,miss, it isn’tamatteronwhichI

canpushher!Yetitisn’teither,Imustsay,asifImuchneededto.Ithasmadeher,everyinchofher,quiteold.”“Oh, I see her perfectly fromhere. She resents, for all theworld like some

high little personage, the imputation on her truthfulness and, as it were, herrespectability. ‘Miss Jessel indeed—she!’Ah, she’s ‘respectable,’ thechit!Theimpressionshegavemethereyesterdaywas,Iassureyou,theverystrangestofall; itwasquitebeyondanyof theothers. Ididputmyfoot in it!She’llneverspeaktomeagain.”Hideousandobscureasitallwas,itheldMrs.Grosebrieflysilent; thenshe

grantedmypointwith a franknesswhich, Imade sure, hadmorebehind it. “Ithinkindeed,miss,sheneverwill.Shedohaveagrandmanneraboutit!”“And thatmanner”—Isummed itup—“ispracticallywhat’s thematterwith

hernow!”Oh,thatmanner,Icouldseeinmyvisitor’sface,andnotalittleelsebesides!

“SheasksmeeverythreeminutesifIthinkyou’recomingin.”“Isee—Isee.”I,too,onmyside,hadsomuchmorethanworkeditout.“Has

she said to you since yesterday—except to repudiate her familiarity withanythingsodreadful—asingleotherwordaboutMissJessel?”“Notone,miss.Andofcourseyouknow,”myfriendadded,“I took it from

her,bythelake,that,justthenandthereatleast,therewasnobody.”

“Rather!and,naturally,youtakeitfromherstill.”“Idon’tcontradicther.WhatelsecanIdo?”“Nothingintheworld!You’vethecleverestlittlepersontodealwith.They’ve

madethem—theirtwofriends,Imean—stillcleverereventhannaturedid;foritwaswondrousmaterialtoplayon!Florahasnowhergrievance,andshe’llworkittotheend.”“Yes,miss;buttowhatend?”“Why, that ofdealingwithme toheruncle.She’llmakemeout tohim the

lowestcreature—!”IwincedatthefairshowofthesceneinMrs.Grose’sface;shelookedfora

minute as if she sharply saw them together. “And himwho thinks sowell ofyou!”“Hehasanoddway—itcomesovermenow,”Ilaughed,“—ofprovingit!But

thatdoesn’tmatter.WhatFlorawants,ofcourse,istogetridofme.”Mycompanionbravelyconcurred.“Neveragaintosomuchaslookatyou.”“Sothatwhatyou’vecometomenowfor,”Iasked,“is tospeedmeonmy

way?”Beforeshehadtimetoreply,however,Ihadherincheck.“I’veabetteridea—theresultofmyreflections.Mygoingwouldseemtherightthing,andonSundayIwasterriblynearit.Yetthatwon’tdo.It’syouwhomustgo.YoumusttakeFlora.”Myvisitor,atthis,didspeculate.“Butwhereintheworld—?”“Away fromhere.Away from them.Away,evenmostofall,now, fromme.

Straighttoheruncle.”“Onlytotellonyou—?”“No,not‘only’!Toleaveme,inaddition,withmyremedy.”Shewasstillvague.“Andwhatisyourremedy?”“Yourloyalty,tobeginwith.AndthenMiles’s.”Shelookedatmehard.“Doyouthinkhe—?”“Won’t,ifhehasthechance,turnonme?Yes,Iventurestilltothinkit.Atall

events,Iwanttotry.Getoffwithhissisterassoonaspossibleandleavemewithhim alone.” I was amazed, myself, at the spirit I had still in reserve, andthereforeperhapsatriflethemoredisconcertedatthewayinwhich,inspiteofthisfineexampleofit,shehesitated.“There’sonething,ofcourse,”Iwenton:“theymustn’t,beforeshegoes,seeeachotherforthreeseconds.”Thenitcameovermethat,inspiteofFlora’spresumablesequestrationfromtheinstantofher

returnfromthepool, itmightalreadybe too late.“Doyoumean,” Ianxiouslyasked,“thattheyhavemet?”Atthisshequiteflushed.“Ah,miss,I’mnotsuchafoolasthat!IfI’vebeen

obliged to leaveher threeor four times, ithasbeeneach timewithoneof themaids, and at present, though she’s alone, she’s locked in safe.And yet—andyet!”Thereweretoomanythings.“Andyetwhat?”“Well,areyousosureofthelittlegentleman?”“I’mnotsureofanythingbutyou.ButIhave,sincelastevening,anewhope.

Ithinkhewantstogivemeanopening.Idobelievethat—poorlittleexquisitewretch!—hewantstospeak.Lastevening,inthefirelightandthesilence,hesatwithmefortwohoursasifitwerejustcoming.”Mrs.Groselookedhard,throughthewindow,atthegray,gatheringday.“And

diditcome?”“No, though I waited and waited, I confess it didn’t, and it was without a

breachofthesilenceorsomuchasafaintallusiontohissister’sconditionandabsencethatweatlastkissedforgoodnight.Allthesame,”Icontinued,“Ican’t,ifheruncleseesher,consenttohisseeingherbrotherwithoutmyhavinggiventheboy—andmostofallbecausethingshavegotsobad—alittlemoretime.”My friend appeared on this ground more reluctant than I could quite

understand.“Whatdoyoumeanbymoretime?”“Well, a day or two—really to bring it out. He’ll then be onmy side—of

whichyouseetheimportance.Ifnothingcomes,Ishallonlyfail,andyouwill,at theworst, havehelpedmebydoing,onyour arrival in town,whateveryoumayhavefoundpossible.”SoIputitbeforeher,butshecontinuedforalittlesoinscrutablyembarrassedthatIcameagaintoheraid.“Unless,indeed,”Iwoundup,“youreallywantnottogo.”Icouldseeit,inherface,atlastclearitself;sheputoutherhandtomeasa

pledge.“I’llgo—I’llgo.I’llgothismorning.”Iwantedtobeveryjust.“Ifyoushouldwishstilltowait,Iwouldengageshe

shouldn’tseeme.”“No,no:it’stheplaceitself.Shemustleaveit.”Sheheldmeamomentwith

heavyeyes,thenbroughtouttherest.“Youridea’stherightone.Imyself,miss—”“Well?”“Ican’tstay.”

Thelookshegavemewithitmademejumpatpossibilities.“Youmeanthat,sinceyesterday,youhaveseen—?”Sheshookherheadwithdignity.“I’veheard—!”“Heard?”“From that child—horrors! There!” she sighed with tragic relief. “On my

honor, miss, she says things—!” But at this evocation she broke down; shedropped,withasuddensob,uponmysofaand,asIhadseenherdobefore,gavewaytoallthegriefofit.Itwasquite inanothermannerthatI,formypart, letmyselfgo.“Oh, thank

God!”Shesprangupagainatthis,dryinghereyeswithagroan.“‘ThankGod’?”“Itsojustifiesme!”“Itdoesthat,miss!”I couldn’t have desired more emphasis, but I just hesitated. “She’s so

horrible?”Isawmycolleaguescarceknewhowtoputit.“Reallyshocking.”“Andaboutme?”“About you, miss—since you must have it. It’s beyond everything, for a

younglady;andIcan’tthinkwherevershemusthavepickedup—”“The appalling language she applied tome? I can, then!” I broke inwith a

laughthatwasdoubtlesssignificantenough.Itonly,intruth,leftmyfriendstillmoregrave.“Well,perhapsIoughttoalso

—sinceI’veheardsomeofitbefore!YetIcan’tbearit,”thepoorwomanwentonwhile,with the samemovement, she glanced, onmy dressing table, at thefaceofmywatch.“ButImustgoback.”Ikepther,however.“Ah,ifyoucan’tbearit—!”“HowcanIstopwithher,youmean?Why,justforthat:togetheraway.Far

fromthis,”shepursued,“farfromthem—”“Shemaybedifferent?Shemaybefree?”Iseizedheralmostwithjoy.“Then,

inspiteofyesterday,youbelieve—”“Insuchdoings?”Hersimpledescriptionofthemrequired,inthelightofher

expression,tobecarriednofurther,andshegavemethewholethingasshehadneverdone.“Ibelieve.”Yes,itwasajoy,andwewerestillshouldertoshoulder: ifImightcontinue

sure of that I should care but little what else happened. My support in the

presence of disaster would be the same as it had been in my early need ofconfidence,andifmyfriendwouldanswerformyhonesty,Iwouldanswerforalltherest.Onthepointoftakingleaveofher,nonetheless,Iwastosomeextentembarrassed.“There’sonething,ofcourse—itoccurstome—toremember.Myletter,givingthealarm,willhavereachedtownbeforeyou.”Inowperceivedstillmorehowshehadbeenbeatingaboutthebushandhow

wearyatlastithadmadeher.“Yourletterwon’thavegotthere.Yourletterneverwent.”“Whatthenbecameofit?”“Goodnessknows!MasterMiles—”“Doyoumeanhetookit?”Igasped.Shehungfire,butsheovercameherreluctance.“ImeanthatIsawyesterday,

whenIcamebackwithMissFlora,thatitwasn’twhereyouhadputit.Laterinthe evening I had the chance to question Luke, and he declared that he hadneither noticed nor touched it.”We could only exchange, on this, one of ourdeepermutualsoundings,anditwasMrs.Grosewhofirstbroughtuptheplumbwithanalmostelated“Yousee!”“Yes, I see that if Miles took it instead he probably will have read it and

destroyedit.”“Anddon’tyouseeanythingelse?”I facedheramomentwithasadsmile.“Itstrikesme thatby this timeyour

eyesareopenevenwiderthanmine.”Theyprovedtobesoindeed,butshecouldstillblush,almost,toshowit.“I

makeoutnowwhathemusthavedoneatschool.”Andshegave,inhersimplesharpness,analmostdrolldisillusionednod.“Hestole!”Iturneditover—Itriedtobemorejudicial.“Well—perhaps.”Shelookedasifshefoundmeunexpectedlycalm.“Hestoleletters!”She couldn’t knowmy reasons for a calmness after all pretty shallow; so I

showed themoff as Imight. “I hope then itwas tomore purpose than in thiscase!Thenote, at any rate, that Iputon the tableyesterday,” Ipursued, “willhavegivenhimso scant anadvantage—for it containedonly thebaredemandforaninterview—thatheisalreadymuchashamedofhavinggonesofarforsolittle,and thatwhathehadonhismind lasteveningwasprecisely theneedofconfession.”Iseemedtomyself,fortheinstant,tohavemasteredit,toseeitall.“Leaveus,leaveus”—Iwasalready,atthedoor,hurryingheroff.“I’llgetitoutofhim.He’llmeetme—he’ll confess. Ifheconfesses,he’s saved.And ifhe’s

saved—”“Thenyouare?”Thedearwomankissedmeonthis,andItookherfarewell.

“I’llsaveyouwithouthim!”shecriedasshewent.

XXIIYetitwaswhenshehadgotoff—andImissedheronthespot—thatthegreat

pinch really came. If I had counted onwhat itwould giveme to findmyselfalonewithMiles,Ispeedilyperceived,atleast,thatitwouldgivemeameasure.No hour ofmy stay in factwas so assailedwith apprehensions as that ofmycomingdownto learnthat thecarriagecontainingMrs.Groseandmyyoungerpupilhadalready rolledoutof thegates.Now Iwas, I said tomyself, face tofacewith theelements,andformuchof therestof theday,whileI foughtmyweakness,IcouldconsiderthatIhadbeensupremelyrash.Itwasatighterplacestill thanIhadyetturnedroundin;all themorethat,forthefirst time,Icouldseeintheaspectofothersaconfusedreflectionofthecrisis.Whathadhappenednaturallycausedthemalltostare;therewastoolittleoftheexplained,throwoutwhateverwemight,inthesuddennessofmycolleague’sact.Themaidsandthemenlookedblank;theeffectofwhichonmynerveswasanaggravationuntilIsawthenecessityofmakingitapositiveaid. Itwasprecisely, inshort,byjustclutchingthehelmthatIavoidedtotalwreck;andIdaresaythat,tobearupatall, I became, that morning, very grand and very dry. I welcomed theconsciousnessthatIwaschargedwithmuchtodo,andIcausedittobeknownaswell that, left thus tomyself, Iwasquite remarkably firm. Iwanderedwiththatmanner, for thenexthouror two,allover theplaceandlooked,Ihavenodoubt, as if Iwere ready for any onset. So, for the benefit ofwhom itmightconcern,Iparadedwithasickheart.Theperson itappeared least toconcernproved tobe, tilldinner, littleMiles

himself.Myperambulationshadgivenme,meanwhile,noglimpseofhim,buttheyhadtendedtomakemorepublicthechangetakingplaceinourrelationasaconsequence of his having at the piano, the day before, kept me, in Flora’sinterest, so beguiled and befooled. The stamp of publicity had of course beenfully given by her confinement and departure, and the change itself was nowushered inbyournonobservanceof the regularcustomof theschoolroom.Hehadalreadydisappearedwhen,onmywaydown,Ipushedopenhisdoor,andIlearnedbelowthathehadbreakfasted—inthepresenceofacoupleofthemaids—withMrs.Groseandhissister.Hehadthengoneout,ashesaid,forastroll;thanwhichnothing,Ireflected,couldbetterhaveexpressedhisfrankviewoftheabrupt transformation of my office. What he would not permit this office to

consistofwasyet tobesettled: therewasaqueerrelief,atallevents—Imeanformyselfinespecial—intherenouncementofonepretension.Ifsomuchhadsprungtothesurface,Iscarceputittoostronglyinsayingthatwhathadperhapssprung highest was the absurdity of our prolonging the fiction that I hadanythingmoretoteachhim.Itsufficientlystuckoutthat,bytacitlittletricksinwhichevenmorethanmyselfhecarriedoutthecareformydignity,Ihadhadtoappeal to him to let me off straining to meet him on the ground of his truecapacity.Hehadatanyratehisfreedomnow;Iwasnevertotouchitagain;asIhad amply shown, moreover, when, on his joining me in the schoolroom theprevious night, I had uttered, on the subject of the interval just concluded,neitherchallengenorhint. Ihad toomuch, from thismoment,myother ideas.Yetwhenheatlastarrived,thedifficultyofapplyingthem,theaccumulationsofmyproblem,werebroughtstraighthometomebythebeautifullittlepresenceonwhich what had occurred had as yet, for the eye, dropped neither stain norshadow.Tomark,forthehouse,thehighstateIcultivatedIdecreedthatmymealswith

theboyshouldbeserved,aswecalledit,downstairs;sothatIhadbeenawaitinghimintheponderouspompoftheroomoutsideof thewindowofwhichIhadhadfromMrs.Grose, thatfirstscaredSunday,myflashofsomethingitwouldscarcehavedonetocalllight.HereatpresentIfeltafresh—forIhadfeltitagainandagain—howmyequilibriumdependedonthesuccessofmyrigidwill, thewilltoshutmyeyesastightaspossibletothetruththatwhatIhadtodealwithwas,revoltingly,againstnature.Icouldonlygetonatallbytaking“nature”intomyconfidenceandmyaccount,bytreatingmymonstrousordealasapushinadirectionunusual,ofcourse,andunpleasant,butdemanding,afterall,forafairfront, only another turn of the screw of ordinary human virtue. No attempt,nonetheless,couldwellrequiremoretactthanjustthisattempttosupply,one’sself,allthenature.HowcouldIputevenalittleofthatarticleintoasuppressionof reference to what had occurred? How, on the other hand, could I makereferencewithoutanewplungeintothehideousobscure?Well,asortofanswer,after a time, had come tome, and itwas so far confirmed as that Iwasmet,incontestably,bythequickenedvisionofwhatwasrareinmylittlecompanion.Itwasindeedasifhehadfoundevennow—ashehadsooftenfoundatlessons—still some other delicate way to easeme off.Wasn’t there light in the factwhich,aswesharedoursolitude,brokeoutwithaspeciousglitterithadneveryetquiteworn?—the fact that (opportunity aiding,preciousopportunitywhichhadnowcome)itwouldbepreposterous,withachildsoendowed,toforegothehelponemightwrestfromabsoluteintelligence?Whathadhisintelligencebeen

givenhimforbuttosavehim?Mightn’tone,toreachhismind,riskthestretchofanangulararmoverhischaracter?Itwasasif,whenwewerefacetofaceinthediningroom,hehadliterallyshownmetheway.Theroastmuttonwasonthetable,and Ihaddispensedwithattendance.Miles,beforehesatdown,stoodamoment with his hands in his pockets and looked at the joint, on which heseemedonthepointofpassingsomehumorousjudgment.Butwhathepresentlyproducedwas:“Isay,mydear,isshereallyveryawfullyill?”“LittleFlora?Not sobadbut that she’llpresentlybebetter.Londonwill set

herup.Blyhadceasedtoagreewithher.Comehereandtakeyourmutton.”Healertlyobeyedme,carriedtheplatecarefullytohisseat,and,whenhewas

established,wenton.“DidBlydisagreewithhersoterriblysuddenly?”“Notsosuddenlyasyoumightthink.Onehadseenitcomingon.”“Thenwhydidn’tyougetheroffbefore?”“Beforewhat?”“Beforeshebecametooilltotravel.”I found myself prompt. “She’s not too ill to travel: she only might have

becomesoifshehadstayed.Thiswasjustthemomenttoseize.Thejourneywilldissipatetheinfluence”—oh,Iwasgrand!—“andcarryitoff.”“Isee,Isee”—Miles,forthatmatter,wasgrand,too.Hesettledtohisrepast

with the charming little “table manner” that, from the day of his arrival, hadrelievedmeofallgrossnessofadmonition.Whateverhehadbeendrivenfromschoolfor,itwasnotforuglyfeeding.Hewasirreproachable,asalways,today;buthewasunmistakablymoreconscious.Hewasdiscerniblytryingtotakeforgranted more things than he found, without assistance, quite easy; and hedropped into peaceful silencewhile he felt his situation.Ourmealwas of thebriefest—mine a vain pretense, and I had the things immediately removed.WhilethiswasdoneMilesstoodagainwithhishandsinhislittlepocketsandhisbacktome—stoodandlookedoutofthewidewindowthroughwhich,thatotherday,Ihadseenwhatpulledmeup.Wecontinuedsilentwhilethemaidwaswithus—assilent,itwhimsicallyoccurredtome,assomeyoungcouplewho,ontheirwedding journey, at the inn, feel shy in the presence of thewaiter.He turnedroundonlywhenthewaiterhadleftus.“Well—sowe’realone!”

XXIII“Oh,moreorless.”Ifancymysmilewaspale.“Notabsolutely.Weshouldn’t

likethat!”Iwenton.“No—Isupposeweshouldn’t.Ofcoursewehavetheothers.”“Wehavetheothers—wehaveindeedtheothers,”Iconcurred.“Yet even though we have them,” he returned, still with his hands in his

pocketsandplantedthereinfrontofme,“theydon’tmuchcount,dothey?”Imadethebestofit,butIfeltwan.“Itdependsonwhatyoucall‘much’!”“Yes”—with all accommodation—“everything depends!” On this, however,

hefacedto thewindowagainandpresentlyreacheditwithhisvague,restless,cogitatingstep.Heremainedthereawhile,withhisforeheadagainsttheglass,incontemplationof the stupid shrubs I knewand the dull things ofNovember. Ihad always my hypocrisy of “work,” behind which, now, I gained the sofa.Steadyingmyself with it there as I had repeatedly done at thosemoments oftormentthatIhavedescribedasthemomentsofmyknowingthechildrentobegiventosomethingfromwhichIwasbarred,Isufficientlyobeyedmyhabitofbeingpreparedfortheworst.ButanextraordinaryimpressiondroppedonmeasI extracted ameaning from the boy’s embarrassed back—none other than theimpressionthatIwasnotbarrednow.This inferencegrewinafewminutes tosharp intensity and seemed bound up with the direct perception that it waspositivelyhewhowas.Theframesandsquaresofthegreatwindowwereakindofimage,forhim,ofakindoffailure.IfeltthatIsawhim,atanyrate,shutinorshut out. Hewas admirable, but not comfortable: I took it inwith a throb ofhope.Wasn’the looking, through thehauntedpane, for somethinghecouldn’tsee?—andwasn’titthefirsttimeinthewholebusinessthathehadknownsuchalapse?Thefirst,theveryfirst:Ifounditasplendidportent.Itmadehimanxious,thoughhewatchedhimself;hehadbeenanxiousalldayand,evenwhileinhisusualsweetlittlemannerhesatattable,hadneededallhissmallstrangegeniustogiveitagloss.Whenheatlastturnedroundtomeetme,itwasalmostasifthisgeniushadsuccumbed.“Well,IthinkI’mgladBlyagreeswithme!”“Youwouldcertainlyseemtohaveseen,thesetwenty-fourhours,agooddeal

moreof it than forsome timebefore. Ihope,” Iwentonbravely,“thatyou’vebeenenjoyingyourself.”

“Oh,yes,I’vebeeneversofar;allroundabout—milesandmilesaway.I’veneverbeensofree.”Hehadreallyamannerofhisown,andIcouldonlytrytokeepupwithhim.

“Well,doyoulikeit?”Hestoodtheresmiling;thenatlastheputintotwowords—“Doyou?”—more

discrimination than I had ever heard twowords contain.Before I had time todeal with that, however, he continued as if with the sense that this was animpertinencetobesoftened.“Nothingcouldbemorecharmingthanthewayyoutakeit,forofcourseifwe’realonetogethernowit’syouthatarealonemost.ButIhope,”hethrewin,“youdon’tparticularlymind!”“Havingtodowithyou?”Iasked.“Mydearchild,howcanIhelpminding?

ThoughI’verenouncedallclaimtoyourcompany—you’resobeyondme—Iatleastgreatlyenjoyit.WhatelseshouldIstayonfor?”He looked atmemore directly, and the expression of his face, graver now,

struckme as themost beautiful I had ever found in it. “You stay on just forthat?”“Certainly.IstayonasyourfriendandfromthetremendousinterestItakein

youtillsomethingcanbedoneforyouthatmaybemoreworthyourwhile.Thatneedn’tsurpriseyou.”MyvoicetrembledsothatIfeltitimpossibletosuppresstheshake.“Don’tyourememberhowItoldyou,whenIcameandsatonyourbedthenightofthestorm,thattherewasnothingintheworldIwouldn’tdoforyou?”“Yes, yes!”He, on his side,more andmore visibly nervous, had a tone to

master;buthewassomuchmoresuccessfulthanIthat,laughingoutthroughhisgravity,hecouldpretendwewerepleasantlyjesting.“Onlythat,Ithink,wastogetmetodosomethingforyou!”“Itwaspartlytogetyoutodosomething,”Iconceded.“But,youknow,you

didn’tdoit.”“Oh,yes,”hesaidwiththebrightestsuperficialeagerness,“youwantedmeto

tellyousomething.”“That’sit.Out,straightout.Whatyouhaveonyourmind,youknow.”“Ah,then,isthatwhatyou’vestayedoverfor?”HespokewithagaietythroughwhichIcouldstillcatchthefinestlittlequiver

of resentful passion; but I can’t begin to express the effect upon me of animplicationof surrenderevenso faint. Itwasas ifwhat Ihadyearned forhadcomeatlastonlytoastonishme.“Well,yes—Imayaswellmakeacleanbreast

ofit,itwaspreciselyforthat.”He waited so long that I supposed it for the purpose of repudiating the

assumptiononwhichmyactionhadbeenfounded;butwhathefinallysaidwas:“Doyoumeannow—here?”“Therecouldn’tbeabetterplaceortime.”Helookedroundhimuneasily,and

Ihadtherare—oh,thequeer!—impressionoftheveryfirstsymptomIhadseeninhimoftheapproachofimmediatefear.Itwasasifheweresuddenlyafraidofme—whichstruckmeindeedasperhapsthebestthingtomakehim.YetintheverypangoftheeffortIfeltitvaintotrysternness,andIheardmyselfthenextinstantsogentleastobealmostgrotesque.“Youwantsotogooutagain?”“Awfully!”He smiled atme heroically, and the touching little bravery of it

was enhanced by his actually flushing with pain. He had picked up his hat,whichhehadbroughtin,andstoodtwirlingitinawaythatgaveme,evenasIwasjustnearlyreachingport,aperversehorrorofwhatIwasdoing.Todoitinanywaywasanactofviolence,forwhatdiditconsistofbuttheobtrusionoftheideaofgrossnessandguiltonasmallhelplesscreaturewhohadbeenformearevelationof thepossibilities of beautiful intercourse?Wasn’t it base to createforabeingsoexquisiteamerealienawkwardness? I suppose Inowread intooursituationaclearness itcouldn’thavehadat the time,forIseemtoseeourpooreyesalreadylightedwithsomesparkofaprevisionoftheanguishthatwastocome.Sowecircledabout,withterrorsandscruples,likefightersnotdaringto close. But it was for each other we feared! That kept us a little longersuspendedandunbruised.“I’lltellyoueverything,”Milessaid—“ImeanI’lltellyouanythingyoulike.You’llstayonwithme,andweshallbothbeallright,andIwilltellyou—Iwill.Butnotnow.”“Whynotnow?”Myinsistenceturnedhimfrommeandkepthimoncemoreathiswindowina

silenceduringwhich,betweenus,youmighthaveheardapindrop.Thenhewasbeforemeagainwiththeairofapersonforwhom,outside,someonewhohadfranklytobereckonedwithwaswaiting.“IhavetoseeLuke.”Ihadnotyet reducedhim toquitesovulgara lie,andI feltproportionately

ashamed. But, horrible as it was, his lies made up my truth. I achievedthoughtfullyafewloopsofmyknitting.“Well,then,gotoLuke,andI’llwaitforwhatyoupromise.Only,inreturnforthat,satisfy,beforeyouleaveme,oneverymuchsmallerrequest.”He looked as if he felt he had succeeded enough to be able still a little to

bargain.“Verymuchsmaller—?”

“Yes,amerefractionofthewhole.Tellme”—oh,myworkpreoccupiedme,and I was offhand!—“if, yesterday afternoon, from the table in the hall, youtook,youknow,myletter.”

XXIVMysenseofhowhereceivedthissufferedforaminutefromsomethingthatI

can describe only as a fierce split ofmy attention—a stroke that at first, as Isprangstraightup, reducedme to themereblindmovementofgettingholdofhim, drawing him close, and, while I just fell for support against the nearestpieceof furniture, instinctivelykeepinghimwithhisback to thewindow.TheappearancewasfulluponusthatIhadalreadyhadtodealwithhere:PeterQuinthadcomeintoviewlikeasentinelbeforeaprison.ThenextthingIsawwasthat,fromoutside,hehadreachedthewindow,andthenIknewthat,closetotheglassand glaring in through it, he offered oncemore to the roomhiswhite face ofdamnation.Itrepresentsbutgrosslywhattookplacewithinmeatthesighttosaythat on the second my decision was made; yet I believe that no woman sooverwhelmedeverinsoshortatimerecoveredhergraspoftheact. Itcame tome in theveryhorrorof the immediatepresence that theactwouldbe, seeingand facing what I saw and faced, to keep the boy himself unaware. Theinspiration—Icancallitbynoothername—wasthatIfelthowvoluntarily,howtranscendently,Imight.Itwaslikefightingwithademonforahumansoul,andwhen I had fairly so appraised it I sawhow the human soul—heldout, in thetremor ofmyhands, at arm’s length—had a perfect dewof sweat on a lovelychildish forehead. The face that was close to mine was as white as the faceagainsttheglass,andoutofitpresentlycameasound,notlownorweak,butasiffrommuchfurtheraway,thatIdranklikeawaftoffragrance.“Yes—Itookit.”Atthis,withamoanofjoy,Ienfolded,Idrewhimclose;andwhileIheldhim

to my breast, where I could feel in the sudden fever of his little body thetremendouspulseofhis littleheart,Ikeptmyeyesonthethingat thewindowandsawitmoveandshiftitsposture.Ihavelikenedittoasentinel,butitsslowwheel, for a moment, was rather the prowl of a baffled beast. My presentquickenedcourage,however,wassuchthat,nottoomuchtoletitthrough,Ihadtoshade,asitwere,myflame.Meanwhiletheglareofthefacewasagainatthewindow,thescoundrelfixedasiftowatchandwait.ItwastheveryconfidencethatImightnowdefyhim,aswellasthepositivecertitude,bythistime,ofthechild’sunconsciousness,thatmademegoon.“Whatdidyoutakeitfor?”

“Toseewhatyousaidaboutme.”“Youopenedtheletter?”“Iopenedit.”Myeyeswerenow,as Iheldhimoff a little again,onMiles’sown face, in

which the collapse of mockery showed me how complete was the ravage ofuneasiness.Whatwasprodigiouswasthatatlast,bymysuccess,hissensewassealed and his communication stopped: he knew that hewas in presence, butknewnotofwhat,andknewstill lessthatIalsowasandthatIdidknow.Andwhatdid this strainof troublematterwhenmyeyeswentback to thewindowonly to see that the air was clear again and—by my personal triumph—theinfluencequenched?Therewasnothingthere.IfeltthatthecausewasmineandthatIshouldsurelygetall.“Andyoufoundnothing!”—Iletmyelationout.Hegavethemostmournful,thoughtfullittleheadshake.“Nothing.”“Nothing,nothing!”Ialmostshoutedinmyjoy.“Nothing,nothing,”hesadlyrepeated.Ikissedhisforehead;itwasdrenched.“Sowhathaveyoudonewithit?”“I’veburnedit.”“Burnedit?”Itwasnowornever.“Isthatwhatyoudidatschool?”Oh,whatthisbroughtup!“Atschool?”“Didyoutakeletters?—orotherthings?”“Otherthings?”Heappearednowtobethinkingofsomethingfaroffandthat

reachedhimonlythroughthepressureofhisanxiety.Yetitdidreachhim.“DidIsteal?”Ifeltmyselfreddentotherootsofmyhairaswellaswonderifitweremore

strange to put to a gentleman such a question or to see him take it withallowancesthatgavetheverydistanceofhisfall in theworld.“Wasitfor thatyoumightn’tgoback?”The only thing he felt was rather a dreary little surprise. “Did you know I

mightn’tgoback?”“Iknoweverything.”Hegavemeatthisthelongestandstrangestlook.“Everything?”“Everything.Thereforedidyou—?”ButIcouldn’tsayitagain.Milescould,verysimply.“No.Ididn’tsteal.”MyfacemusthaveshownhimIbelievedhimutterly;yetmyhands—but it

was for pure tenderness—shook him as if to ask him why, if it was all for

nothing,hehadcondemnedmetomonthsoftorment.“Whatthendidyoudo?”He looked invaguepainall round the topof the roomanddrewhisbreath,

twoorthreetimesover,asifwithdifficulty.Hemighthavebeenstandingatthebottomoftheseaandraisinghiseyestosomefaintgreentwilight.“Well—Isaidthings.”“Onlythat?”“Theythoughtitwasenough!”“Toturnyououtfor?”Never,truly,hadaperson“turnedout”shownsolittletoexplainitasthislittle

person!Heappearedtoweighmyquestion,butinamannerquitedetachedandalmosthelpless.“Well,IsupposeIoughtn’t.”“Buttowhomdidyousaythem?”He evidently tried to remember, but it dropped—he had lost it. “I don’t

know!”Healmostsmiledatmeinthedesolationofhissurrender,whichwasindeed

practically,bythistime,socompletethatIoughttohaveleftitthere.ButIwasinfatuated—Iwasblindwithvictory,thougheventhentheveryeffectthatwastohavebroughthimsomuchnearerwasalreadythatofaddedseparation.“Wasittoeveryone?”Iasked.“No;itwasonlyto—”Buthegaveasicklittleheadshake.“Idon’tremember

theirnames.”“Weretheythensomany?”“No—onlyafew.ThoseIliked.”Thoseheliked?Iseemedtofloatnotintoclearness,butintoadarkerobscure,

andwithin aminute there had come tome out ofmy very pity the appallingalarm of his being perhaps innocent. It was for the instant confounding andbottomless,forifhewereinnocent,whatthenonearthwasI?Paralyzed,whileitlasted, by themere brush of the question, I let himgo a little, so that,with adeep-drawnsigh,heturnedawayfrommeagain;which,ashefacedtowardtheclearwindow,Isuffered,feelingthatIhadnothingnowtheretokeephimfrom.“Anddidtheyrepeatwhatyousaid?”Iwentonafteramoment.Hewassoonatsomedistancefromme,stillbreathinghardandagainwiththe

air, though nowwithout anger for it, of being confined against hiswill.Oncemore, as he had done before, he looked up at the dim day as if, ofwhat hadhithertosustainedhim,nothingwasleftbutanunspeakableanxiety.“Oh,yes,”heneverthelessreplied—“theymusthaverepeatedthem.Tothosetheyliked,”he

added.Therewas,somehow,lessofitthanIhadexpected;butIturneditover.“And

thesethingscameround—?”“To the masters? Oh, yes!” he answered very simply. “But I didn’t know

they’dtell.”“Themasters?Theydidn’t—they’venevertold.That’swhyIaskyou.”Heturnedtomeagainhislittlebeautifulfeveredface.“Yes,itwastoobad.”“Toobad?”“WhatIsupposeIsometimessaid.Towritehome.”Ican’tnametheexquisitepathosofthecontradictiongiventosuchaspeech

by such a speaker; I only know that the next instant I heardmyself throwoffwith homely force: “Stuff and nonsense!” But the next after that Imust havesoundedsternenough.“Whatwerethesethings?”My sternness was all for his judge, his executioner; yet it made him avert

himself again, and that movement made me, with a single bound and anirrepressiblecry,springstraightuponhim.Forthereagain,againsttheglass,asiftoblighthisconfessionandstayhisanswer,wasthehideousauthorofourwoe—thewhitefaceofdamnation.Ifeltasickswimatthedropofmyvictoryandallthereturnofmybattle,sothatthewildnessofmyveritableleaponlyservedas a great betrayal. I saw him, from the midst of my act, meet it with adivination, andon the perception that evennowheonly guessed, and that thewindowwasstilltohisowneyesfree,Ilettheimpulseflameuptoconverttheclimaxofhisdismayintotheveryproofofhisliberation.“Nomore,nomore,nomore!”Ishrieked,asItriedtopresshimagainstme,tomyvisitant.“Isshehere?”Milespantedashecaughtwithhissealedeyesthedirectionof

mywords.Thenashisstrange“she”staggeredmeand,withagasp,Iechoedit,“MissJessel,MissJessel!”hewithasuddenfurygavemeback.I seized, stupefied, his supposition—some sequel to what we had done to

Flora,butthismademeonlywanttoshowhimthatitwasbetterstillthanthat.“It’snotMissJessel!Butit’satthewindow—straightbeforeus.It’sthere—thecowardhorror,thereforthelasttime!”At this, after a second in which his headmade themovement of a baffled

dog’sonascentandthengaveafranticlittleshakeforairandlight,hewasatme in a white rage, bewildered, glaring vainly over the place and missingwholly,thoughitnow,tomysense,filledtheroomlikethetasteofpoison,thewide,overwhelmingpresence.“It’she?”

IwassodeterminedtohaveallmyproofthatIflashedintoicetochallengehim.“Whomdoyoumeanby‘he’?”“PeterQuint—youdevil!”Hisfacegaveagain,roundtheroom,itsconvulsed

supplication.“Where?”Theyareinmyearsstill,hissupremesurrenderofthenameandhistributeto

mydevotion.“Whatdoeshematternow,myown?—whatwillheevermatter?Ihaveyou,”Ilaunchedatthebeast,“buthehaslostyouforever!”Then,forthedemonstrationofmywork,“There,there!”IsaidtoMiles.Buthehadalreadyjerkedstraightround,stared,glaredagain,andseenbutthe

quietday.With thestrokeof the lossIwassoproudofheuttered thecryofacreaturehurledoveranabyss,andthegraspwithwhichIrecoveredhimmighthavebeenthatofcatchinghiminhisfall.Icaughthim,yes,Iheldhim—itmaybeimaginedwithwhatapassion;butattheendofaminuteIbegantofeelwhatit trulywas that I held.Wewere alonewith thequiet day, andhis little heart,dispossessed,hadstopped.

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