With widening eyes and spectral motions he drew near.
"In the dark?" he asked. "Why in the dark? The darkness is in me, and all the lamps that light the world's ships into harbor could not dispel it."
All at once he went to his knees. "Oh, my wife, my wife! save me, save me! Hell is in my soul!"
She drew back, and with low vehemence urged him to his feet. "Up! up! My husband shall not kneel to me!"
Laying her hand reverently upon his shoulder she pressed him into his room, set the lamp aside, and let him clasp her wildly in his arms.
"Save me, Isabel," he moaned again. "Save me."
"From what, dear heart,—from what can I save you?" She drew him to a seat and knelt beside him.
"From the green-eyed demon that has gnawed, gnawed, gnawed at my heart till it is rent to shreds, and at my brain—my brain!—till it is almost gone." His brow drooped to hers. "Almost gone, beloved; my brain is almost gone."
"No, Arthur, dearest, no, no, no; your heart is torn, but your mind, thank God, is whole. This is only a mood. Come, it will pass with one night's sleep."
Still he held her brow beneath his. "Save me, Isabel; my soul is almost gone. Oh, save me from the fiends that come before me and behind me, by night and by day, eyes shut or eyes open."