A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 65: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

64 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY .- full of guile. Smiling at length, he coughed slightly, then remarked: ““Come, my children, come; now lét us eat. One cannot live, even here, on soft breezes, landscapes, blue waters or— sweet thoughts!” With a gesture he indicated his own chair to Dennison, then, turning, bade Lombard bring another from the house. That was a breakfast such as Denni- son had never known, or dreamed. The little white table out there in the warm beauty of that walled garden, with its vistas of pines and fruit-trees, its view of the Mediterranean, its shade and sun- light, became for him enchanted. Whether he ate or not, he could not tell. Stasia’s voice, her every gesture, the mere sight of her, the knowledge of her presence, filled him with a wondrous, an unspeakable happiness. A bird-note, here or there among the branches, the thyme-perfumed breeze, the slow drift of cloud-fleeces across the sky, blended to a perfect background for the wizardry that thralled him. In all his life never had he experienced a moment so entrancing, never known so blissful a situation. Every element of romance seemed to enter there—youth, beauty, perfection, all, everything, there on that massive height beside the Homeric sea. Forgotten was Il Vecchio; yet as the old man watched Stasia distil the coffee or listened to his guest’s happy speech, a something in his thin-lipped snnle was eloquent of evil. At length he spoke. “Now, my children,” said he, ‘you must pardon me. I have a new experi- ment under way, this morning. So, au revoir!” . Rising, he left them. They, scarcely noticing his departure still sat at table with laughter that echoed among the olive-trees and fragrant sunlit aisles. Breakfast over, they strolled down to the summer-house. Often as Dennison had studied every detail of the curving coast all the way from Cap d’Agde to Les Stes. Maries, the sweep of that segment of the golden Riviera never had seemed so perfect as now. The clustered fishing villages, the little towns and bathing resorts with their gleaming red-tiled roofs, their tiny spires and belfries pricking up through the ver- dure; the shining flash of surf for miles each way; the twinkle of the copper- domed lighthouse in the sun; even the smudge of a Marseilles steamer far off over the horizon—all, everything, ap- peared beatified. Thus an hour sped by—the happiest in Dennison’s whole life. He knew not, and had he known he would probably not have cared, that from a window of the house Il Vecchio was keenly watching them. For to a soul in paradise what mat- ters anything outside it? And this pe- turn of Stasia was to him far more than “paradise anew.” CHAPTER 18 A New Horror ENNISON’S courtship, thus cavalierly begun, proceeded with well-favored facility. Each day he rose, feeling the strength and vigor of a perfect prime pulsating through him; each day became more deeply infatuated with this charming girl, with her fascinat- ing ways, her varying moods, her thoughts and turns of sentiment, her delightful speech and never-failing tendernesses. Merely to sit and watch her at her em- broidery was for him a pleasure so poig- nant that it banished all thoughts of the future, stilled all questionings, put far away from him the last of his haunting fears. . Such petty details as the status of his visit bore no longer any weight with him. Me had almost forgotten his treason to Il Vecchio; he was forgetting his duty, his long-overdue return to his own work and his own life in America; everything had gone by the board—everything, save her! Yet Il Vecchio murmured not, nor by any word or sign or look was aught than the personification of cordiality. Wiuth- am’s name was often on his lips, as though that alone constituted an inexhaustible letter of credit for Dennison. And right royally did the American draw upon it. His days were idleness and adoration ; his nights, visions of Stasia. Sometimes, of an evening, he and she would sing to- nn) (C 6)(0)©) Ss (C(O)