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Upon returning to the dimly lit cabinet where his fatal compact with Rougemont had been signed, Anthony noticed the pocket-book lying near the table. He picked it up, intending to deposit it in the writing-desk, but an irresistible impulse made him examine its contents once more. Unfolding the roll of notes, he counted them, discovering they amounted to more than a hundred thousand pounds. The sight of such wealth and the thought of the pleasure and power it would bring began to dispel his fears. Rising in a frenzy of delight, he exclaimed, “Yes, yes—all obstacles are now removed! When Mr. Talbot finds I am thus wealthy, he will no longer refuse me his daughter.”
But then he stopped, his joy suddenly clouded. “But I am mad,” he muttered, “worse than mad, to indulge such hopes. If I have indeed sold myself to the Fiend, there is no help from perdition! If it be a man, I am scarcely less fettered. In either case, I will not stay here any longer; nor will I use this accursed money, which has tempted me to my undoing.”
He hurled the pocket-book to the far end of the room and was about to leave when a mocking laugh echoed around him. He turned, astonished and filled with dread, but saw no one. After a moment, he moved forward again, but Rougemont’s voice stopped him cold.
“It will be in vain to flee,” said the unseen speaker. “You cannot escape me. Whether you remain here or not—whether you use the wealth I have given you or leave it behind—you cannot annul your bargain. With this knowledge, you are free to go. But remember, on the seventh night from this, I shall require Edith Talbot from you!”
“Where are you, fiend?” Anthony demanded, eyes darting around wildly. “Show yourself, that I may confront you.”
A mocking laugh was his only answer.
“Give me back the compact,” Anthony pleaded. “I signed in ignorance. I knew not the price I was to pay for your assistance. Wealth is worthless to me without Edith.”
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“Without wealth, you could not obtain her,” the voice replied. “You are only where you were. But you will reconsider the bargain by morning. Meanwhile, I advise you to lock the money you have foolishly discarded and seek repose. You will awaken with very different thoughts.”
“How am I to account for my sudden wealth?” Anthony asked, after a pause.
“You, a gambler, ask that question?” the unseen stranger laughed bitterly. “But I will ease your mind. As for the house, you will find a regular conveyance of it within that writing-desk. The note on the table, bearing your address, is from me, announcing the payment of a hundred and twenty thousand pounds to you, as a debt of honor. I have accounted for every difficulty. Now, farewell!”
The voice fell silent, and though Anthony shouted several more questions, no answer came. After a moment of indecision, he retrieved the pocket-book and placed it in the writing-desk, where he found, as foretold, a deed conveying the house to him. He opened the note on the table and found it matched what had been told him. Placing it with the pocket-book, he locked the writing-desk, exclaiming, “It is useless to struggle—I must yield to fate!”
This done, he entered the adjoining room, his eyes drawn to an antique bottle and flagon. The flagon was filled to the brim—how or with what, Anthony did not pause to examine. Grabbing the cup with desperation, he placed it to his lips and emptied it in one draught.
A pleasant intoxication, akin to the effects of opium, soon followed. All his fears vanished, replaced by gentle and delightful fancies. Surrendering to their influence, he sank onto a couch, falling into a dreamy elysium. He imagined wandering with Edith Talbot in a lovely garden, redolent with sweet fragrances and alive with birdsong. Their path led through a grove to a marble-brimmed fountain. As they hastened toward it, Edith suddenly screamed and pointed to a large black snake lying before her. She would have stepped on it the next moment. Anthony sprang forward to crush the reptile with his heel, but it evaded the blow, coiled around his leg, and sank its venomous teeth into his flesh. The pain from the imaginary wound jolted him awake, and he saw a servant standing nearby.
Bowing obsequiously, the man inquired if he required anything.
“Show me to my bedroom—that is all I need,” Anthony replied, barely able to shake off the vision.
Rising, he followed the servant out of the room, moving almost mechanically.