“But he’s been saying the most extraordinary things,” she persisted.
“Has ’e? Well, don’t you bother about it.”
This conversation took place just before the series of events leading to the finale of Act I.
The scene, as written, ran thus: The worthy Vicar, deserted by wife and child—beset by an intriguing woman—sinks down before his writing-desk and buries his face in his hands. After a few seconds of silent agony he rises, straightens himself—like a man determined to bear his burden with unbent back—and strides from the room.
No sooner has he gone than two paid desperadoes make burglarious entry by the French windows, and steal from his safe papers proving him to have been guilty of a crime years before. As they are escaping, the Reverend Barnard Coles returns, and cries “Who’s there?” He tries to arrest their flight, and is brutally struck down.—curtain.
Now when the wicked lady left the stage, on this particular night, Eliphalet was perfectly clear about what he had to do. It was the author’s intention he should stagger to his writing-table—and stagger he did, most realistically. He supported himself with one hand and switched off the table lamp with the other, leaving the stage in darkness, save for the crimson rays from the fireplace, which encarmined his form during the few moments of grief and prayer before his exit.
With the reduction of the light Eliphalet experienced a totally unlooked-for sensation in his head—a dizziness, a vertigo. He sank into the chair and buried his face, and then——
I would not dream of suggesting any reader of this story would be likely to have personal knowledge of the sensations which sudden darkness brings to persons who have over-stepped the margins of sobriety. I am credibly informed, however, by contrite, but experienced authorities, that peculiar and various illusions occur. As a general rule, either the floor comes up, or the ceiling descends, and this with a rotary and oscillating motion.
So long as the darkness prevails there is no escape for the unhappy sufferer, and, strange to say, he is seldom wise enough to escape from the darkness.
Eliphalet Cardomay had not been drinking. On the other hand, who but an analyst could say what potent drugs went to the manufacture of Enoch’s Instantaneous?