A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

66 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY taken place in Corsica, not far away to eastward. He thrilled, with strange emo- tions. “Will you not sing?” asked he. She, smiling with a grave sweetness, let her fingers wander a moment upon the strings ; then, striking a minor chord, lifted her voice in the old love-song: “‘ Par Une Nuit de Réves.”’ And, blending with the ripple of the sea, thé solemn breath- ing of the night, the song floated up, away, in melody such as, perhaps, the blest may hear in paradise. Far from the moun- tain flashed the stabbing beam of the Pharos. A few mild, wondering stars looked down upon them. Dennison, suf- fused with ineffable passion, so exquisite as to partake of pain, listened and looked and held his breath for very wonder. Safely they landed on a beach of silver sand, on the landward side of the island. He helped the girl out, drove the anchor firmly into the beach, and for a moment stood breathing the charm, the magic of that half-tropic splendor. Then said he, pointing upward at the summit of the isle: “Come, Stasia!”’ He offered her his hand. Together, tranced, beatified, they climbed the wind- ing path that led to the top, two hundred feet above. As they went, pausing now and then to listen or to look, the dark, gold-banded floor of the inland sea opened out to their gaze. Muillions of tiny sparkling flashes wove that ribbon of glory. On Stasia’s face the moonlight, warm as only it can be in that enchanted region, fell with a soft effulgence. And Dennison, yearning toward her, found no word to speak. They had-already reached a point more than a hundred feet above the beach, when all at once the girl uttered a sharp cry of pain, staggered and fell. Her hand escaped his. Crying out in fear, she clung to the very edge of the dark and precipi- tous path, her ankle turned by a loose, rolling stone. On the instant, Dennison seized her. Before she had had time to fall, his powerful arms had dragged her back to safety. “Are you hurt?” he cried, kneeling be- side her. “Tell me you're not hurt!” She, biting her lip to restrain herself, answered not. But in her eyes he saw the gleam of involuntary tears of pain. And, a great passion sweeping through him, he caught her. in his arms. The perfumed masses of her hair in- toxicated, maddened him. The warmth of her burned away his last remaining vestiges of self-control. Close to his breast he drew her; he sheltered her; with a surging, an unspeakable up-rush of love he called her name. About his neck he felt her arm. It tightened, tremblingly. And then his lips sought her mouth. So did their brief, and all-too-transi- tory, hour of bliss begin. So for them were fleetingly opened the gates of para- dise. Ah me, the pain and pleasure, the joy and tragedy of human life! At length, beautified by love, they two came back over the summer sea, from the high, rocky Ile des Oiseaux. And there were other kisses, other words and plightings in the garden, among the odorous rose-trees, before she left him. Then for a long, long time he walked in the fading moonlight; for a long time he sat and thought, alone, down in the vine-shrouded darkness of the pergola. Midnight tolled from the far cathedral in the town, solemnly marking one dead day from another yet to live, but still Dennison remained there, far above the surf, communing with his own inspired soul. At last, when the moon began to pale, he arose. Filled with the joy of it all, he sought his room. Five minutes later, pale as chalk, wild eyed and with disheveled hair, he cringed . before his mirror, a candle in his palsied hand. The face he saw in the glass was hard- ly recognizable. “Merciful God!” he gasped, and stared again, then burst into hysteric laughter. Then, choking, unable to make any sound at all, he stood there gripping the edge of his dressing-table; with panic- smitten eyes he gazed at his livid count- enance. Cold pinpoints of sweat prickled out on his forehead. His heart beat with dull haste. So horribly he shook that he could scarcely hold himself erect. (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) (C(O)