A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

70 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY ward-looking windows, that the patriarch was probably reading or at work in that peaceful room, he made a quick crouch- ing run for the door which opened off the lawn. Safely he reached it. Waiting not to knock, he opened the door and crept in. Dennison found himself once more in presence of his host, now his arch-enemy, destroyer of his manhood and his life. And, standing there a moment, blinking at the old man—who. sat comfortably in an easy-chair, long pipe in mouth, feet slippered, and with a tome upon his knees—the American’s face twitched with a sudden spasm of hate. - But he controlled it. The hate died out, overcome by the more dominant fear, the terror which obsessed him. In presence of this master of his very soul, Dennison seemed to cringe and shrink, despite his hatred and his rage. | Il Vecchio looked up, smiling a quiet, cordial welcome. But Dennison did not smile in return. Toward the patriarch he staggered. Out he flung his hands, in an abandon of despair. “Save me!” he gasped. “For Heaven’s sake, save me—before it’s hopeless! Be- fore it is too late!” Showing not the slightest sign or mark of surprise Il Vecchio calmly laid down his book. He gazed at the newcomer. Under the lamp-light the rims of his glasses glinted paternally. — “So you are back again?’ asked he, very kindly. “Welcome home, my friend! You must be weary. Sit down and rest a while; then we can talk. I will have Lombard bring fruit and wine. Here are cigars.” He. nodded at the box upon the table. . Dennison, silent for a moment, stared at him with eyes that burned like coals. The studied politeness of the old man was to him like the -turning of a knife- blade in a raw wound. But he restrained himself; he checked the scalding words that seethed within him. “And did you find Professor Petit, at Alfort?” resumed the old man, casually, as though asking the time of day. “A splendid man, a true scholar! One of the few 1” : “What?” cried Dennison. “How— how do you know—where I’ve been?” I! Vecchio smiled very dryly. “Oh, that,” said he, “that is a mere detail. The really vital thing is that Petit, of course, couldn’t do anything for you. Positively nothing at all, is it not so, my friend? And that you have come back here. to me, after all, just as I said you would. Yes, to me—to II Vecchio, here? And now?” Dennison clenched both fists. I! Vec- chio’s patronage infuriated him. “You demon!” he cried, in a trembl- ing voice. “If I told all I knew, if I de- nounced—” “Come, come,” interrupted the aged man, raising a lean hand. “Come now, no childish follies. Nobody would believe you. You ask my aid. Do not annoy me. Be wise; be’ reasonable. now require?” For a moment Dennison, outraged be- yond even the possibility of words, grew a shade paler. But he restrained himself. In his heart now, for the first time of his whole existence, he felt the killing im- pulse. Had he been a crude, an untrained man, giving way to the lusts of murder, gladly he could have flung himself upon that sarcastic smiling patriarch ‘and strangle him with naked hands. But as it was, he held himself. Biting his lip until 1t grew dull purple, he man- aged to articulate: | “Yes, I—have failed. Petit’s treat- ment, quite useless! Unless you rescue me, I—I am lost!” > ieee LY he felt a thrill of envy. Even in his torture, he realized for the first time, that he understood at last the beauty and the righteousness of age. As though a veil had been drawn away from before his eyes, he perceived the dig- nity of I! Vecchio’s high, bald forehead, of that aquiline nose, those sunken yet all- comprehending eyes. And an unspeak- able yearning possessed him for the boon, the blessing of sanctitude. The thing which but a few weeks be- fore had seemed to him so hideous, so hateful, now suddenly assumed a different aspect. And with a secret wonder in his keen distress, he found himself yearning for Il Vecchio’s ripened years, for the great and lasting peace which soon must come to this old man. | What do you nn) (C 6)(0)©) (C(O)