Mrs. Millicent put out a hand as though to touch it, but withdrew at the stare of the tiny basilisk eyes. It seemed to her that this fragment of carved stone, glimmering opaquely as the rays of the level sun filtered through it, still threatened her, and she felt grateful for the steadiness of the hand that held it. Youth was about to dissipate the nightmare of the past. But somehow she did not want to see the thing done.
“I think,” she said, with a glance at Edith, “that you and I might let these two perform the ceremony by themselves.”
Edith laughed and nodded. “Jack will certainly smash the end of a finger before it’s over, and I can see by his face that he’s in tune for a regular oblation. It’s that sacrificial look.”
Derrick grinned cheerfully but did not speak. When they were alone he put the image on the mantel and took his girl in his arms.
“It’s years since I saw you.”
She smiled back, her face very close to his. “Dearest, it’s only three days.”
“Which is three too many. What an inspiration of your mother’s! Do you know what smashing that thing will be like with you here?”
“What, Jack?”
“Like gathering up all that is dark and ominous and deadly in the world, and obliterating it in front of everything that is sweet and lovely and desirable. You never knew that the first one to go was the one who made it, and then fear of it began to spread. I’ll tell you about it some day—the whole story. But now it’s all ended and done with.”
“Where will you break it, Jack?”