A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

72 A. MBRRITT’S FANTASY burning well, the old man _ continued: ‘Death, after all,”’ he said, “is not the greatest evil. Blessed are they who can attain it peacefully, lying down to their last long sleep unmutilated and in peace, as nature wills it. Once I fought against the thought of dissolution. It was that fight which Ied me into the long years of research which, at the very end, you checkmated—you, my guest, my trusted friend! “No matter; I see more clearly now. Death may even become a boon. Metch- nikoff is right when he says that, after the life-work is done, the instinct for dy- ing replaces that for living.” e ceased, then, reaching out, pressed an electric button at the side of his read- ing-table. “What are you doing there?” de- manded Dennison, with sudden hot sus- picion. “Merely summoning my niece,” an- swered the old man very gently. “She, poor girl, has been mourning her heart away ever since you so abruptly took your leave. She made me promise to let her know at once when you returned. Now you are here, I call her. Well?” An expression of horror transformed the American’s face. “Why—why—” he stammered. ‘She can’t see me now, this way! She mustn’t! I've lost five years since—since last time! Great heavens, this can’t be!” “It can, and must!” replied I! Vecchio sternly. All Dennison’s self-control seemed to slide, to slip away from him like a torn garment, too long held together. “For God’s sake, do not inflict this thing on me!” he wailed. Gone, now, the stern decision of man- liness, the fighting strength, the virile driving power of but a few weeks before. If Vecchio felt how little he had person- ally to fear from this weakened, dimin- ished piogeery of a man who had been Dennison. The American’s voice, now pleading, broke with boyish trebles. “Spare me this!” he cried. ‘Have I not sutfered enough already, to atone? Is there no way to stop the course of this diabolic thing ?”’ Il Vecchio shook his hoary head, with a wise, sad, weary smile. “As you have sown, so must you reap,” he answered. “Can nothing avail?” “Nothing! I could not save you now, even though I would!” “No hope ?” “None!” | “Then—then thus I cheat you!” cried the tortured victim. He uncorked the vial in his hand. Il Vecchio made no move to hinder him, but merely watched with tolerant half- interest. “Thus now I free myself from you forever!” “Eh? Cyanid?” queried the old man, calmly as though merely asking the name of some familiar wine. But Dennison, speaking no further word, set the vial to his lips, and in a spasm of mad anguish drained the fearful poison, whereof—to any other man save he—the smallest drop meant instantane- ous, black, annihilating death! CHAPTER 21 Vecchio Dissects Two Souls ITH a cry of triumph, Dennison dashed the vial to the tiling. Shat- tered, it flew into myriad frag- ments. “Now—now I die!’ he screamed, his voice shrill and horrible with des- perate exultation. But, though he closed his eyes, gripped his head between both hands, and stood there swaying, utterly undone by the sug- gestion of impending death, nothing hap- pened. A burning, tingling sensation in mouth and throat was all he felt—this, and al- most immediately a somewhat stimulated throbbing of the heart. Dazed, uncomprehending he opened his eyes. “What?” he stammered. “Am [ dream- ing? Is this death? Where—where am “Where, my friend?” smiled Il Vec- chio, drawing calmly at his long pipe as he still sat in his chair, observing every- thing with amusement. ‘“‘Why, where should you be? Here in my study, of course. Come, now ; you are overwrought, exhausted, unnerved, and not yourself.” (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) Ss (C(O)