“Such was the tale, whispered, overlapped with repetitions, a succession of touches like that, done lightly but with a passion—­oh, you should have been there to understand!  The meaning of a wild, sad life was in them.  And her big yellow eyes were hungry upon me.  I seemed to see the vast South American town, as old as Europe in sin and as new as Wyoming in heart.”

“You make me see it all,” Bedient said.

“Can you understand that the Glow-worm is expiring to get back to that old mad life?” Miss Mallory asked.

“Yes, from what you tell me of her.”

“It is true, only it must be so he cannot follow....  It must be as it was before he came—­when she could taste and feel and see—­as it was before the chill settled down upon her senses, before the shuddering began.  That’s how she expresses it....  She overpowered me a little at first.  I was slow to realize how one’s intents and sensations could be absolutely physical.  I could pity, but there was something actually creepy about her.  I was inane enough to ask if she could not return for a visit.  She sank back and shut her eyes and clenched her hands, saying: 

“’When he is dead or when he is tired of me, I shall go back—­not for a visit, but to stay!  He would not let me go for a visit, and I could not—­oh, I wouldn’t dare to run from him!  Always I’d think him after me.  There would be no sleep for me.  I’d think him after me—­you know how it is in a dream, when you are like a ghost—­all limp in the limbs, but trying to run!  It would be like that, if I fled from him—­always expecting him to clutch me from behind!...  My God, if he would only make me mad!  But he won’t—­he won’t!’

“‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

“‘I mean,’ the Glow-worm whispered, drawing my head down to hers, ’I mean I would kill him.  Oh, he’s all but dead!  I could kill him with my hands, if he would fill me with rage, so I could forget his eyes.  He is all alive in his eyes!...  But it shall never be.  He will say—­do this and come and go and rest and rise, and do that—­and I shall obey like the Chinese....  Oh, tell me what you would do, if the Senor said to you, looking right into your skull, ‘Come with me to-night!’”

“I told her I should laugh at the Senor, and suggest possibly that he had drunk too much wine.  She seemed unable to comprehend, and repeated, ‘If he should look right into your skull, could you say that?’ I assured her I could, and she tried to believe, but she concluded that I only thought I could be that strong.

“Then she told me it had been months since she talked to anyone without being afraid; that she felt at once it would be safe to talk with me; that so much she wanted to tell had been shut up like a swelling in her throat—­’ah, God, so long!’...  ’And then you would say with a laugh—­as you tell me,’ the Senora went on, as if memorizing my method.  Her lips mumbled and trailed the words,