Sylva

For a moment we stood speechless, all three of us, staring at the bushes that had closed upon their prey as if to defend her from pursuit. What broke the silence was the brute’s enormous roar of laughter—triumphant, insulting. “Well, go and take ’er away now, what are yer waitin’ for?” and already he was shambling off to his lair, his laughter bellowing ever more loudly.

“Just a moment, my lad!”

It was the Mayor speaking, and his voice was so hard and peremptory, so threatening, that the fellow shut up and turned around. He was glowering at the tranquil giant from under his monstrous eyebrows, with a crafty but not very reassured look.

“You’ve been warned,” said the colossus. “The girl is under age. If you don’t bring her back yourself to Richwick Manor before night, of your own free will, I’ll send the constabulary out tomorrow. And you are good for a stretch in jail, maybe even hard labor. So get that into your thick skull and mind what you do.”

And without giving him time to answer, he gripped me by the arm and dragged me away.

Chapter 16

WE made our way back through the forest without exchanging a word. He was walking in front of me on the narrow path, and while his back was toward me I tried to regain control of myself. I found it very hard. It has been said that love is an itch you ca

On the edge of the forest we parted, and he said to me: “Don’t worry. Hull will bring her back to you or else the police will. In any case, no need to be alarmed. Anyhow,” he added, with a genial laugh (why “anyhow,” and why did he laugh?), “anyhow, these primitive creatures have sometimes more chivalrous feelings than one gives them credit for. You know young Nancy, the barmaid at the i

Was he saying that to reassure me? That Nancy with her mocking laughter had scared the poor chap was natural enough. It was a case of awe rather than chivalry. But why should he be awed by Sylva?

The most elementary good ma

I did not go home right away. The idea of having to face Na

When I want to ponder over a personal problem I always begin by honestly examining my rights. This gives me a twofold advantage: first, I feel honest, which is not at all negligible; second, if my rights are confirmed (and they rarely fail to be) I no longer fear fresh trouble with my conscience when riding roughshod over all obstacles. This is a mental hygiene which has always proved effective.

But this time it was not so simple. Far from confirming my rights toward Sylva, careful consideration rather confirmed those I did not possess. The only right I could grant myself was the de facto authority one has over a domestic animal. She was neither my daughter, sister nor fiancée, not even an orphan or a child entrusted to me by a friend. I could claim no other rights over her than those one assumes as a matter of course over one’s dog, one’s horse. Very well! I tried to triumph, you don’t let a tabby cat run loose in spring, you prevent its misalliance and pick a mate worthy of her. So far, so good: you refuse to give Sylva to this ape man, and you are certainly well advised. But what other mate do you offer her instead?

That’s where the trouble started. I could think of two or three handsome chaps in the village. And I became aware that, far from satisfying me, the thought of their mating with Sylva revolted me no less than that of the ape man, perhaps even more. An insistent voice took advantage of this to suggest, despite my opposition: “Well, then… what about you?… Why not?” Of course I rejected the suggestion but it would obstinately return, so that in the end I had to face it squarely. Except that I put myself in the position of a spectator. I imagined the respectable Albert Richwick lying with a fox bitch whose only human characteristic was her anatomy, indulging in a beastly copulation with an anatomy for the sole purpose of stilling, deep inside a creature without mind or soul, a mere impatience, a blind hunger, a carnal itch. Repulsive! All in all, the business was less repulsive with a cave man, much less.

Did honor and wisdom command, then, that I should leave Sylva in the arms of that gorilla? Wouldn’t he, after all, be the best match for a fox-woman? Weren’t they made for each other, spurred by the common savagery of their primitive natures? Made to suit and understand each other without need of words, destined to mate in i

Well, then? If so, could I part them? Had I a right to? But revolt again overwhelmed me, a revolt of the senses no doubt but one which, as I gradually perceived, pushed its roots to much greater depths, to strata of my mind that were still clouded with shadows. Yes, I gradually realized that to abandon Sylva to the wretched Jeremy might possibly spell happiness for her, but would certainly be a betrayal. I could not dig deeper than that. The feeling that I would be betraying something very precious in her remained an overriding presentiment, though it did not yet light up with any intelligible meaning. I would be betraying her, but in what way? Certainly not in her fox nature. Nor in her chances of happiness. Where then, I kept wondering, where then, betrayal, is thy sting? But I could not find an answer and once again felt irritated and on edge.

And suddenly this i