by W. W. Jacobs
fiercely.
"No," she cried, triumphantly; "we'll have one more. Go down and get itquickly, and wish our boy alive again."
The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs."Good God, you are mad!" he cried, aghast.
"Get it," she panted; "get it quickly, and wish--Oh, my boy, my boy!"
Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. "Get back to bed," hesaid, unsteadily. "You don't know what you are saying."
"We had the first wish granted," said the old woman, feverishly; "why notthe second?"
"A coincidence," stammered the old man.
"Go and get it and wish," cried his wife, quivering with excitement.
The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. "He has beendead ten days, and besides he--I would not tell you else, but--I couldonly recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for you tosee then, how now?"
"Bring him back," cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door."Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?"
He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and thento the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fearthat the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him ere hecould escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his breath ashe found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold withsweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall untilhe found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in hishand.
Even his wife's face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was whiteand expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look upon it.He was afraid of her.
"Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice.
"It is foolish and wicked," he faltered.
"Wish!" repeated his wife.
He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."
The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then hesank trembling into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, walkedto the window and raised the blind.
He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at thefigure of the old woman peering through the window. The candle-end,which had burned below the rim of the china candlestick, was throwingpulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with a flicker largerthan the rest, it expired. The old man, with an unspeakable sense ofrelief at the failure of the talisman, crept back to his bed, and aminute or two afterward the old woman came silently and apatheticallybeside him.
Neither spoke, but lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock. Astair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall.The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing uphis courage, he took the box of matches, and striking one, wentdownstairs for a candle.
At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strikeanother; and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to bescarcely audible, sounded on the front door.
The matches fell from his hand and spilled in the passage. He stoodmotionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then heturned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind him.A third knock sounded through the house.
"What's that?" cried the old woman, starting up.
"A rat," said the old man in shaking tones--"a rat. It passed me on thestairs."
His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through thehouse.
"It's Herbert!" she screamed. "It's Herbert!"
She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching her bythe arm, held her tightly.
"What are you going to do?" he whispered hoarsely.
"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling mechanically."I forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go.I must open the door."
"For God's sake don't let it in," cried the old man, trembling.
"You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'mcoming, Herbert; I'm coming."
There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden wrenchbroke free and ran from the room. Her husband followed to the landing,and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard thechain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from thesocket. Then the old woman's voice, strained and panting.
"The bolt," she cried, loudly. "Come down. I can't reach it."
But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor insearch of the paw. If he could only find it before the thing outside gotin. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house, and heheard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the passageagainst the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowlyback, and at the same moment he found the monkey's paw, and franticallybreathed his third and last wish.
The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in thehouse. He heard the chair drawn back, and the door opened. A cold windrushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of disappointment andmisery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and thento the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering opposite shone on a quietand deserted road.
