decidedly uncanny one, as the following passage will show. Armand is speaking to Helen Murray, the sister of his great friend, Denzil Murray. In Scotland during the previous summer Armand had paid Helen some attentions, and Helen does not fail to note that the charms of Ziska have dissipated any tender feeling which Armand might have once entertained for the Scottish girl. "How was I to know," cries Armand, "that this horrible thing would happen?" "What horrible thing?" enquires Helen.
"This," he answers: "the close and pernicious
enthralment of a woman I never met till the night
before last; a woman whose face haunts me; a
woman who drags me to her side with the force of
a magnet, there to grovel like a brain-sick fool and
plead with her for a love which I already know is
poison to my soul! Helen, Helen! You do not
understand—you will never understand! Here, in
the very air I breathe, I fancy I can trace the perfume
she shakes from her garments as she moves;
something indescribably fascinating yet terrible attracts
me to her; it is an evil attraction, I know,
but I cannot resist it. There is something wicked
in every man's nature; I am conscious enough that
there is something detestably wicked in mine, and
I have not sufficient goodness to overbalance it.
And this woman,—this silent, gliding, glittering-eyed
creature that has suddenly taken possession of
my fancy—she overcomes me in spite of myself;
she makes havoc of all the good intentions of my
life. I admit—I confess it!"
