He laughed aloud.
"I killed him," he said, "when I took his place. Julian, you shall know now, what the lady of the feathers knows already, what a human will can do, when it is utterly content with itself, when it is trained, developed, perfected. I came through Marr to Valentine. I was Marr."
"Marr!" Julian said slowly. "You!"
"And Marr, too, was my prey. Like Valentine he was not content with himself. His weakness of discontent was my opportunity. I expelled his will, for mine was stronger than his. I lived in his body until the time came for me to be with you. Have you ever read of vampires?"
Julian muttered a hoarse assent. He seemed bound by a strange spell, inert, paralysed almost.
"There are vampires in the modern world who feed, not upon bodies, but upon souls, wills. And each soul they feed upon gives to them greater strength, a longer reign upon the earth. Who knows? One of them in time may compass eternity."
He seemed to tower up in the little room, to blaze with triumph.
"When you see a man go down, sink into the mire, and you say, 'He is weak—he has come under a bad influence'—it is a vampire who feeds upon his soul, who sucks the blood of his will. Sometimes the vampire comes in his own form, sometimes he wears a mask—the mask of a friend's form and face. The influences that wreck men are the vampires of the soul at work, Julian, at work."
His face was terrible. Julian shrank from it. He turned to Cuckoo.
"They feed on women too," he said. "On the souls of women. Men say that magic is a dream and a chimera. Women say that miracles are past, or that there never were such things. But the power of sin is magical. The death of beauty and of innocence in a soul is a miracle. My power over you, Julian, is magic. The bondage of your soul to mine is a miracle. Come with me."