Over the exquisite pain of the reunion—at which I was present, yet not present—I shall pass briefly. More beautiful than ever, more appealing with her vivid, deep coloring, Velma in the flesh was a vision that stirred my longing into an intense flame.
Louis limped painfully down the gangplank. When they met, she rested her head silently on his shoulder for a moment, then—her eyes brimming with tears—assisted him, with the tender solicitude of a mother, to the machine she had in waiting.
Two months later they were married. I felt the pain of this less deeply than I would have done had it not been essential to my designs.
Whatever vague hope I may have had, however, of vicariously enjoying the delights of love were disappointed. I could not have explained why—I only knew that something barred me from intruding upon the sacred intimacies of their life, as if a defensive wall were interposed. It was baffling, but a very present fact, against which I found it useless to rebel. I have since learned—but no matter. * * *
This had no bearing on my purpose, which hinged upon the ability I was acquiring of influencing Louis’ thoughts and actions—of taking partial control of his faculties.
The occupation into which he drifted, restricted in choice as he was by the stiffened leg, helped me materially. Often, after an interminable shift at the bank, he would plod home at night with brain so weary and benumbed that it was a simple matter to impress my will upon him. Each successful attempt, too, made the next one easier.
The inevitable consequence was that in time Velma should notice his aberrations and betray concern.
“Why did you say to me, when you came in last night, ‘There’s a blue Billy-goat on the stairs—I wish they’d drive him out’?” she demanded one morning.
He looked down shamefacedly at the tablecloth.
“I don’t know what made me say it. I seemed to want to say it, and that was the only way to get it off my mind. I thought you’d take it as a joke.” He shifted his shoulders, as if trying to dislodge an unpleasant burden.