Miss Jessel stood before us on the opposite bank exactly as she had stood the other time, and I remember, strangely, as the first feeling now produced in me, my thrill of joy at having brought on a proof. She was there, and I was justified; she was there, and I was neither cruel nor mad. She was there for poor scared Mrs. Grose, but she was there most for Flora; and no moment of my monstrous time was perhaps so extraordinary as that in which I consciously threw out to her—with the sense that, pale and ravenous demon as she was, she would catch and understand it—an inarticulate message of gratitude. She rose erect on the spot my friend and I had lately quitted, and there was not, in all the long reach of her desire, an inch of her evil that fell short. This first vividness of vision and emotion were things of a few seconds, during which Mrs. Grose’s dazed blink across to where I pointed struck me as a sovereign sign that she too at last saw, just as it carried my own eyes precipitately to the child. The revelation then of the manner in which Flora was affected startled me, in truth, far more than it would have done to find her also merely agitated, for direct dismay was of course not what I had expected. Prepared and on her guard as our pursuit had actually made her, she would repress every betrayal; and I was therefore shaken, on the spot, by my first glimpse of the particular one for which I had not allowed. To see her, without a convulsion of her small pink face, not even feign to glance in the direction of the prodigy I announced, but only, instead of that, turn at _me_ an expression of hard, still gravity, an expression absolutely new and unprecedented and that appeared to read and accuse and judge me—this was a stroke that somehow converted the little girl herself into the very presence that could make me quail. I quailed even though my certitude that she thoroughly saw was never greater than at that instant, and in the immediate need to defend myself I called it passionately to witness. “She’s there, you little unhappy thing—there, there, _there_, and you see her as well as you see me!” I had said shortly before to Mrs.Grose that she was not at these times a child,but an old, old woman,and that description of her could not have been more strikingly confirmed than in the way in which, for all answer to this, she simply showed me, without a concession, an admission, of her eyes, a countenance of deeper and deeper, of indeed suddenly quite fixed, reprobation. I was by this time—if I can put the whole thing at all together—more appalled at what I may properly call her manner than at anything else, though it was simultaneously with this that I became aware of having Mrs. Grose also, and very formidably, to reckon with. My elder companion, the next moment, at any rate, blotted out everything but her own flushed face and her loud, shocked protest, a burst of high disapproval. “What a dreadful turn, to be sure, miss!Where on earth do you see anything?”
I could only grasp her more quickly yet,for even while she spoke the hideous plain presence stood undimmed and undaunted. It had already lasted a minute, and it lasted while I continued, seizing my colleague, quite thrusting her at it and presenting her to it, to insist with my pointing hand. “You don’t see her exactly as _we_ see?—you mean to say you don’t now—_now?_ She’s as big as a blazing fire!Only look, dearest woman, _look_—!” She looked, even as I did, and gave me,with her deep groan of negation, repulsion,compassion—the mixture with her pity of her relief at her exemption—a sense,touching to me even then,that she would have backed me up if she could.I might well have needed that,for with this hard blow of the proof that her eyes were hopelessly sealed I felt my own situation horribly crumble, I felt—I saw—my livid predecessor press, from her position, on my defeat, and I was conscious, more than all, of what I should have from this instant to deal with in the astounding little attitude of Flora. Into this attitude Mrs. Grose immediately and violently entered, breaking, even while there pierced through my sense of ruin a prodigious private triumph, into breathless reassurance.
“She isn’t there, little lady,and nobody’s there—and you never see nothing, my sweet!How can poor Miss Jessel—when poor Miss Jessel’s dead and buried?_We_ know, don’t we, love?”—and she appealed, blundering in, to the child.“It’s all a mere mistake and a worry and a joke—and we’ll go home as fast as we can!”
Our companion, on this, had responded with a strange,quick primness of propriety, and they were again,with Mrs. Grose on her feet, united, as it were,in pained opposition to me.Flora continued to fix me with her small mask of reprobation,and even at that minute I prayed God to forgive me for seeming to see that,as she stood there holding tight to our friend’s dress,her incomparable childish beauty had suddenly failed,had quite vanished.I’ve said it already—she was literally,she was hideously, hard;she had turned common and almost ugly.“I don’t know what you mean. I see nobody.I see nothing. I never _have_. I think you’re cruel. I don’t like you!” Then, after this deliverance,which might have been that of a vulgarly pert little girl in the street,she hugged Mrs. Grose more closely and buried in her skirts the dreadful little face. In this position she produced an almost furious wail. “Take me away, take me away—oh, take me away from _her!_”
“From _me?_” I panted.
“From you—from you!” she cried.
Even Mrs. Grose looked across at me dismayed,while I had nothing to do but communicate again with the figure that,on the opposite bank, without a movement,as rigidly still as if catching, beyond the interval,our voices, was as vividly there for my disaster as it was not there for my service. The wretched child had spoken exactly as if she had got from some outside source each of her stabbing little words, and I could therefore, in the full despair of all I had to accept, but sadly shake my head at her. “If I had ever doubted, all my doubt would at present have gone. I’ve been living with the miserable truth, and now it has only too much closed round me. Of course I’ve lost you: I’ve interfered, and you’ve seen—under _her_ dictation”—with which I faced, over the pool again, our infernal witness—“the easy and perfect way to meet it. I’ve done my best, but I’ve lost you. Goodbye.” For Mrs. Grose I had an imperative, an almost frantic “Go, go!” before which, in infinite distress,but mutely possessed of the little girl and clearly convinced,in spite of her blindness,that something awful had occurred and some collapse engulfed us,she retreated, by the way we had come,as fast as she could move.