"But never on yours! No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfectfrom the hand of Nature, that this slightest possible defect- which wehesitate whether to term a defect or a beauty- shocks me, as being thevisible mark of earthly imperfection.""Shocks you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at firstreddening with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. "Thenwhy did you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love what shocksyou!"To explain this conversation, it must be mentioned, that, in thecentre of Georgiana's left cheek, there was a singular mark, deeplyinterwoven, as it were, with the texture and substance of her face. Inthe usual state of her complexion- a healthy, though delicate bloom-the mark wore a tint of deeper crimson, which imperfectly definedits shape amid the surrounding rosiness. When she blushed, itgradually became more indistinct, and finally vanished amid thetriumphant rush of blood, that bathed the whole cheek with itsbrilliant glow. But, if any shifting emotion caused her to turnpale, there was the mark again, a crimson stain upon the snow, in whatAylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearful distinctness. Its shape borenot a little similarity to the human hand, though of the smallestpigmy size. Georgiana's lovers were wont to say, that some fairy, ather birth-hour, had laid her tiny hand upon the infant's cheek, andleft this impress there, in token of the magic endowments that were togive her such sway over all hearts. Many a desperate swain wouldhave risked life for the privilege of pressing his lips to themysterious hand. It must not be concealed, however, that theimpression wrought by this fairy sign-manual varied exceedingly,according to the difference of temperament in the beholders. Somefastidious persons- but they were exclusively of her own sex- affirmedthat the Bloody Hand, as they chose to call it, quite destroyed theeffect of Georgiana's beauty, and rendered her countenance evenhideous. But it would be as reasonable to say, that one of those smallblue stains, which sometimes occur in the purest statuary marble,would convert the Eve of Powers to a monster. Masculine observers,if the birthmark did not heighten their admiration, contentedthemselves with wishing it away, that the world might possess oneliving specimen of ideal loveliness, without the semblance of aflaw. After his marriage- for he thought little or nothing of thematter before- Aylmer discovered that this was the case with himself.
Had she been less beautiful- if Envy's self could have foundaught else to sneer at- he might have felt his affection heightened bythe prettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost,now stealing forth again, and glimmering to and fro with every pulseof emotion that throbbed within her heart. But, seeing her otherwiseso perfect, he found this one defect grow more and more intolerable,with every moment of their united lives. It was the fatal flaw ofhumanity, which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceablyon all her productions, either to imply that they are temporary andfinite, or that their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. TheCrimson Hand expressed the ineludible gripe, in which mortalityclutches the highest and purest of earthly mould, degrading theminto kindred with the lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whomtheir visible frames return to dust. In this manner, selecting it asthe symbol of his wife's liability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death,Aylmer's sombre imagination was not long in rendering the birthmarka frightful object, causing him more trouble and horror than everGeorgiana's beauty, whether of soul or sense, had given him delight.
At all the seasons which should have been their happiest, heinvariably, and without intending it- nay, in spite of a purpose tothe contrary- reverted to this one disastrous topic. Trifling as it atfirst appeared, it so connected itself with innumerable trains ofthought, and modes of feeling, that it became the central point ofall. With the morning twilight, Aylmer opened his eyes upon his wife'sface, and recognized the symbol of imperfection; and when they sattogether at the evening hearth, his eyes wandered stealthily to hercheek, and beheld, flickering with the blaze of the wood fire, thespectral Hand that wrote mortality where he would fain haveworshipped. Georgiana soon learned to shudder at his gaze. It neededbut a glance, with the peculiar expression that his face often wore,to change the roses of her cheek into a death-like paleness, amidwhich the Crimson Hand was brought strongly out, like a bas-reliefof ruby on the whitest marble.
Late, one night, when the lights were growing dim, so as hardlyto betray the stain on the poor wife's cheek, she herself, for thefirst time, voluntarily took up the subject.
"Do you remember, my dear Aylmer," said she, with a feebleattempt at a smile- "have you any recollection of a dream, last night,about this odious Hand?""None! none whatever!" replied Aylmer, starting; but then headded in a dry, cold tone, affected for the sake of concealing thereal depth of his emotion: "I might well dream of it; for, before Ifell asleep, it had taken a pretty firm hold of my fancy.""And you did dream of it," continued Georgiana, hastily; for shedreaded lest a gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say-"A terrible dream! I wonder that you can forget it. Is it possibleto forget this one expression? 'It is in her heart now- we must haveit out!' Reflect, my husband; for by all means I would have you recallthat dream."The mind is in a sad state, when Sleep, the all-involving, cannotconfine her spectres within the dim region of her sway, but suffersthem to break forth, affrighting this actual life with secrets thatperchance belong to a deeper one. Aylmer now remembered his dream.
