Volume VII - Modernist Magazines Project

318 The Web of MayaWas Chauchat mad ? Yes, clearly. How otherwise could heimagine that he had come from Shergold, that he had spoken witha dead man ? Shergold's death—that was the one certain fact in allthis bewildering world. He had sat there, at the table, just whereChauchat was seated now. They had quarrelled. Le Mesurierhad followed him from that very door, out into the mist. . . .But all at once a point of doubt pierced his soul. Hadhtfollowed Shergold ? Had he in truth followed Shergold out intothe mist ?Was Chauchat mad ? Or—or—was he mad himself? Somethinginside his head throbbed so violently, he could not even think.He sat stunned and dazed by the table holding his head in hishands, while the old man talked on. But while he sat there indumb, inert confusion, his sub-conscious brain was at work,rearranging the past, disentangling the threads of illusion fromthose of reality, arranging these on this side, those on that, clearly,unmistakably. And when all was ready, suddenly the web ofdeception fell from before his eyes, and he saw clearly. Up tothe moment of Shergold's leaving the cottage all had passed as heremembered it: the rest had been a mere phantasmal creation ofhis own brain.His hands were clean of blood, he had committed no crime, hemight go where he chose, he was guiltless, he was free. ....And—and during all the past months, when he had been torturedwith self-condemnations, Shergold had been living his usualhappy, respectable and respected life, seeing Lily every day, seeingthe child .... Oh ! . . . . Le Mesurier's feelings underwent acomplete revulsion ; his remorse shrivelled up, his pity vanished,his old hatred returned reinforced a thousandfold—and he wasfilled with regret, a gnawing, an intolerable regret that his handhad failed to accomplish the sin which his heart had desired.