“Yes,” said Martin dryly. “All, all alone.”
Roberts stood up, propped his stick in a corner and walked the length of the room. His head was lowered; he was absorbed as if debating with himself. At last, he turned swiftly.
“You don’t want to die, do you?” he asked, staring.
“For that kind of impudence which incurs my displeasure.”
Martin leaned back against the head of the couch, put his chin on his hands and looked solemnly at his visitor.
Roberts’ mouth opened and shut as though he were in rarefied air. Then he sat down again and looked at his hand which was still shaking.
“Martin,” he whispered, “I’m frightened.”
“I’m not astonished at that.” Martin sat up. “Roberts!” he cried earnestly. “It’s imperative that you get your thoughts out of this channel!”
“There _is_ no other channel,” interrupted the adviser. “I’m humiliated, degraded—but there is no other channel.”
“Very well,” said Martin. “I won’t try to persuade you to think differently then. But I do ask you to give me the real purpose of this call.”
Roberts did not answer. His face was set and all the color had drained out of it.
“Yes. Bad nights. That I should live—for this!” He looked about him wildly.
“Overlook the This, my mad companion, and look for That!”[4]
Roberts stared at him with amazement rising to horror.
“Destroyer of words!” he said. “My God! You destroyer of sand and clay and rock that make the brilliant hills!”
“Yes. Destroyer.” Martin nodded in agreement.
Roberts got up, holding unsteadily to the arm of the chair.
“I’ll leave you to your destiny!” he cried with savage vehemence.
“Unless it’s interwoven,” answered Martin coldly.
The adviser’s eyes grew bright as though with fever.
“What will you do if I don’t permit you——” Roberts stopped.
“Propose something,” commanded Martin, rising.
“I do.” The adviser picked up his stick and walked uncertainly toward the door. As he turned, he seemed to be smiling. “I _have_ proposed something.”
With an easy stride Martin went to him. He took the stick from his hand and placed it against the wall. He reached for the door and closed it. Deliberately, he caught Roberts by the waist and bent him backwards until he fell. Then he poured one bitter kiss after another—his teeth cutting the adviser’s tender lips and cheeks, his sweat falling like molecules of light.