He had
nothing to gain, everything to lose by my failure. He knew I was a
man to always do the utmost for my friend, simply because he was my
friend, and therefore from any increase of power in me he could
derive nothing but benefit. There was absolutely no motive, could be
no cause, for the act except undiluted jealousy and envy. I stepped
inside the room again and went again to the hearth. Except when I
saw the piles of black tinder I could not realise that he had done
it. It seemed incredible, as if I must be dreaming. But there they
lay, leaf upon leaf, some whole and perfect yet, sheets of black
tinder, curled round at the corners where the flames had rolled them
up, and lined still with white marks where the ink had been. Yes, it
was so. The whole of my work was a nothing, and I a dependent pauper
again.
Where was that whole brilliant structure now that I had lived for
and so passionately loved through this past year? Along each line
had flowed the very essence of my feelings at the time the line was
written, and each one was irreplaceable. The fervour of a past
inspiration, like the fervour of a past desire, can never be
recalled. I gazed down into the grate and felt, stealthily creeping
upon me, as if it had been a beast with me in the empty room, my
intense hatred of this other man, divided from me by a few feet of
space and one slight partition.
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