An Episode in a Madhouse
CARVED IN THE FLESH
SLOWLY, as though devoured by a fiery dragon, the sun disappeared behind the distant hills, painting the sky until it was as a shield that had caught the stain of blood from the dying orb, The white-washed walls of a cell in the State Asylum for the Criminal Insane were encrimsoned by reflected light.
"Blood!" shrieked a crouching figure from the corner of the cell. "Blood on white flesh!" and trembling hands covered his gleaming, staring eyes.
"You'd better look at Number 47, Bill," advised a corridor-keeper to a guard.
The guard nodded, walked slowly down the passageway between the grated cells, his slippered feet soundless upon the concrete floors. The red glint of the setting sun invaded even the gloom of the dismal corridor.
"He's always worse when he sees anything red," grumbled Bill. "He'll rave the rest of the night, I suppose."
From within the cell occupied by Number 47 came low moans, then a jumble of words—words uttered in a pleading, halting voice: a short silence, and the pitch of the voice rose to a shriek,
"Blood! Blood on white flesh! The blood of my name!" screamed the man who crouched in the farthest corner of the cell.
Bill Waterman, though he had been guard in the asylum for many years, shivered slightly. He peered into the cell, quite unseen by the cringing man within. Although Waterman had heard the ravings of the cell's inmate time after time, always would he pause, as if fascinated. Well did he know the story of the imprisoned man, but the tale's horror enchained him, held him there to listen to its repeating. He leaned against the wall out of sight of the man in the cell.
"I loved her. Oh, God, how I loved her!" the voice of Number 47 had sunk almost to a whisper. "And she loved me. She was mine—mine. I thrilled with the light of love that shone in her eyes when we were together. I trembled when her beautiful, soft arms crept lovingly about me. I flamed when her lips sought mine.
"For years I had loved her, waiting for the wonderful day when she would kneel at my side before the priest. And when that day came, the happiness was even greater than I had dreamed. She was my sweetheart, my mistress, my wife, all three in one, She was my all.
"I was called away. My firm sent me far away into the swamps of South America, The parting was terrible, but we both knew that it meant my advancement, my chance to make the fortune for us that would enable me to provide her with all the luxuries that she craved and that I longed to place at her feet.
"Through fever-drenched swamps, battling the dangers of the jungles, fighting for life itself dey after day, I made my way. I had before me always the picture of her when we parted—sob-shaken, trembling with grief. 'God speed you and bring you back to me,' she had prayed as I sailed away.
"There is no mail in the rubber country. My party was far beyond the comforting blessings of messages from loved ones. Each day I wrote love-messages to her in my diary. I would show them to her upon my return. She would treasure the words that I had written during the lonely nights in the camps of the fever country.
"Endless were the days before my work had finished. Delays piled upon delays, I burned with impatience to return to my loved one, but for her welfare I stuck to my post. I sent love-thoughts hurtling through space. I felt that they must reach her and tell her of my great love.
"Came the day of my departure for our home. Ours was a slow sailing, ancient craft that seemed to creep through the waves. Day followed day of ceaseless yearning for the woman I loved. I paced the deck, hour by hour, longing for the journey's ending.
"At last the ship slipped into dock. I hastened through the customs, burning with the desire to rash to my loved one. I cursed the slowness of the taxi that bore me homeward, Would it never arrive? Finally the machine drew up before my door. I leaped to the ground, flung a bill to the driver and fairly flew up the pathway.
"I noticed that the grounds seemed unkempt, the pathway was weed-grown. These were but fleeting impressions which flashed upon me as I leaped forward so that I might the sooner clasp my adored one to my pounding heart.
"It came to me suddenly. The house was deserted. What could have happened? Was she ill? Could she—? But no! it could not be that. She could not have been taken from me. God could not be so cruel. Frantically I rang the bell. No answer came, I peered in at the windows. The house was deserted.
"Then began my search. Friends at first sought to conceal the truth from me, but I forced it from them. My wife had proven faithless. Another had robbed me of my dearest prize. From the moment I learned the truth the world took on a crimson tinge. Always was there a red blur before my eyes.
"I sacrificed everything—my position—my worldly goods, I turned everything available into money—money that I carried always with me. I trailed the pair from place to place. They were always ahead of me, but my searching was as relentless as death itself.
"At last I found them. They had fled to a cabin in the western mountains. Unknown to them, I watched them—watched them and planned.
"I am a strong man—my hatred made me the stronger. I came upon him one day alone on a high peak in the mountains. I crept upon him slowly, cautiously. He did not hear my approach and then I had him in my arms. He was as helpless as a child. In spite of his struggles, I bore him to the edge of a cliff and lowered him until his fingers clutched it. He could not draw himself to safety, and I laughed as I saw his fingers cling to the rock. They slipped—slipped. On his face was written agony, but there was also agony engraved upon my heart.
"As his hands loosened, I brought the heel of my shoe down upon his finger tips. I did not stamp, but pressed firm-
