Question and answer flowed on, and in the doctor's
soul the anxiety and the distress ever deepened. Nor could he control
their development, although at moments his common sense broke into the
catechism like a cool voice from without, and sought to interrupt it
finally. But the twig could not stay the torrent. And the darkness
deepened, darkness in which there was a vision of fire, the vision of a
man, fantastic and menacing. He was the genius of this room. This room
sang of him. Yes, even now the twisted silver goblins, the curved
monstrosities on the cabinet, the crouched Indian boys, the leering
pictures, and always the dull red cloud on wall and carpet, cushion and
hanging. And then a strange deception overtook the doctor and shook his
usually steady nerves. The red cloud seemed to his observing eyes to
tremble, like a flame shaken in a breath of wind, and to glow all around
him. He looked again, endeavouring to laugh at his delusion. But the glow
deepened and there was surely distinct movement. Everywhere on walls,
floor, hangings, couches, faint, thin shadows took shape, grew more
definite. He watched them and saw that they were tiny flames, glowing red
relieved against the red. It was as if he sat in the midst of a ghostly
furnace; for these flames had no pleasant crackling voices.
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