The Darrow Enigma | Page 5

opinion, which, by the bye, I should,
perhaps, have stated a little more gingerly, inasmuch as you are
yourself acquainted with the young lady. Now, don't look incredulous
[noticing my surprise]. Black hair - not brown, black; clear pink and
white complexion; large, deep violet eyes with a remarkable poise to
them." - Here I continued the description for him: "Slight of figure; a
full, honest waist, without a suggestion of that execrable death-trap,
Dame Fashion's hideous cuirass; a little above middle height; deliberate,
and therefore graceful, in all her movements; carries herself in a way to
impress one with the idea that she is innocent, without that
time-honoured concomitant, ignorance; half girl, half woman; shy, yet
strong; and in a word, very beautiful - that's Gwen Darrow." I paused
here, and Maitland went on somewhat dubiously: "Yes, it's not hard to
locate such a woman. She makes her presence as clearly felt among a
million of her sex as does a grain of fuchsine in a hogshead of water. If,
with a few ounces of this, Tyndall could colour Lake Geneva, so with
Gwen Darrow one might, such is the power of the ideal, change the
ethical status of a continent."
He then told me how he had made a study of Miss Darrow's
movements, and had met her many times since; in fact, so often that he
fancied, from something in her manner, that she had begun to wonder if
his frequent appearance were not something more than a coincidence.
The fear that she might think him dogging her footsteps worried him,
and he began as sedulously to avoid the places he knew she frequented,
as he previously had sought them. This, he confessed, made him utterly
miserable. He had, to be sure, never spoken to her, but it was
everything to be able to see her. When he could endure it no longer he
had come to me under pretence of feeling ill, that he might, when he
had made my acquaintance, get me to introduce him to the Darrows.
You will understand, of course, that I did not learn all this at our first
interview. Maitland did not take me into his confidence until we had
had a conference at his laboratory devoted entirely to scientific
speculations. On this occasion he surprised me not a little by turning to
me suddenly and saying: "Some of the grandest sacrifices the world has
ever known, if one may judge by the fortitude they require,=20and the

pain they cause, have occurred in the laboratory." I looked at him
inquiringly, and he continued: "When a man, simply for the great love
of truth that is in him, has given his life to the solution of some problem,
and has at last arrived, after years of closest application, at some
magnificent generalisation - when he has, perhaps, published his
conclusions, and received the grateful homage of all lovers of truth, his
life has, indeed, borne fruit. Of him may it then be justly said that his
"'. . . life hath blossomed downward like The purple bell-flower.'
But suddenly, in the privacy of his laboratory, a single fact arises from
the test-tube in his trembling hand and confronts him! His brain reels;
the glass torment falls upon the floor, and shatters into countless pieces,
but he is not conscious of it, for he feels it thrust through his heart.
When he recovers from the first shock, he can only ejaculate: 'Is it
possible?' After a little he is able to reason. 'I was fatigued,' he says;
'perhaps my senses erred. I can repeat the experiment again, and be sure.
But if it overthrow those conclusions for which I have given my life?'
he gasps. 'My generalisation is firmly established in the minds of all -
all but myself - no one will ever chance upon this particular experiment,
and it may not disprove my theory after all; better, much better, that the
floor there keep the secret of it all both from me and from others!' But
even as he says this to himself he has taken a new tube from the rack
and crawled - ten years older for that last ten minutes - to his chemical
case. The life-long habit of truth is so strong in him that self-interest
cannot submerge it. He repeats the experiment, and confirms his fears.
The battle between his life and a few drops of liquid in a test-tube has
been mercilessly fought, and he has lost! The elasticity of the man is
gone forever, and the only indication the world ever receives of this
terrible conflict between a human soul and its destiny is some half a
dozen lines in Nature, giving the experiment and stating that it utterly
refutes its author's previous conclusions.