Chapter: INCIDENT AT THE WINDOW

IT chanced on Sunday, when Mr. Utterson was on his usual walk
with Mr. Enfield, that their way lay once again through the
by-street; and that when they came in front of the door, both
stopped to gaze on it.

"Well," said Enfield, "that story's at an end at least. We shall
never see more of Mr. Hyde."

"I hope not," said Utterson. "Did I ever tell you that I once saw
him, and shared your feeling of repulsion?"

"It was impossible to do the one without the other," returned
Enfield. "And by the way, what an ass you must have thought me,
not to know that this was a back way to Dr. Jekyll's! It was
partly your own fault that I found it out, even when I did."

"So you found it out, did you?" said Utterson. "But if that be
so, we may step into the court and take a look at the windows. To
tell you the truth, I am uneasy about poor Jekyll; and even
outside, I feel as if the presence of a friend might do him
good."

49)

The court was very cool and a little damp, and full of premature
twilight, although the sky, high up overhead, was still bright
with sunset. The middle one of the three windows was half-way
open; and sitting close beside it, taking the air with an
infinite sadness of mien, like some disconsolate prisoner,
Utterson saw Dr. Jekyll.

"What! Jekyll!" he cried. "I trust you are better."

"I am very low, Utterson," replied the doctor, drearily, "very
low. It will not last long, thank God."

"You stay too much indoors," said the lawyer. "You should be out,
whipping up the circulation like Mr. Enfield and me. (This is my
        cousin--Mr. Enfield--Dr. Jekyll.) Come, now; get your hat and
take a quick turn with us."

"You are very good," sighed the other. "I should like to very
much; but no, no, no, it is quite impossible; I dare not. But
indeed, Utterson, I am very glad to see you; this is really a
great pleasure; I would ask you and Mr. Enfield up, but the place
is really not fit."

"Why then," said the lawyer, good-naturedly, "the best thing we
can do is to stay down here and speak with you from where we
are."

"That is just what I was about to venture to propose," returned
the doctor with a smile. But the words were hardly uttered,
before the smile was struck out of his face and succeeded

50)

by an expression of such abject terror and despair, as froze the
very blood of the two gentlemen below. They saw it but for a
glimpse, for the window was instantly thrust down; but that
glimpse had been sufficient, and they turned and left the court
without a word. In silence, too, they traversed the by-street;
and it was not until they had come into a neighbouring
thoroughfare, where even upon a Sunday there were still some
stirrings of life, that Mr. Utterson at last turned and looked at
his companion. They were both pale; and there was an answering
horror in their eyes.

"God forgive us, God forgive us," said Mr. Utterson.

But Mr. Enfield only nodded his head very seriously and walked on
once more in silence.

51)

 Mr. Utterson and Mr. Enfield are taking one of their customary Sunday strolls and, by chance, their path takes them past "that door," the door that they agreed never to speak of again. They pause now and look at it. Enfield thinks that Mr. Hyde will never be heard of again, and Utterson is quick to agree. He then asks Enfield if he ever told his old friend that he actually saw Hyde, and, furthermore, that when he saw the man, he was filled with a fierce feeling of revulsion. Enfield remarks that it's impossible to see Hyde and not feel nauseated. Utterson suggests that they step into the courtyard for a look at the windows, and as they do, he reveals his uneasiness about Dr. Jekyll's health. Ominously, he says that perhaps just "the presence of a friend" outside, in the court, might strengthen the poor man. The two men survey the windows of Jekyll's quarters, and their eyes are drawn to one window in particular. It is half-open and sitting close beside it, looking like a prisoner in solitary confinement, is Dr. Jekyll. Unhesitatingly, Utterson calls out to the doctor, "Jekyll, I trust you are better." Jekyll's reply is dreary: He feels low, very low, and fears that he "will not last long, thank God." Trying to cheer his old friend, Utterson urges Jekyll to get out -- "whip up the circulation" -- and he invites Jekyll to join him and Enfield. Jekyll sighs. He says that Utterson is a good man for suggesting a stroll together, but he cannot join them; he dare not. Yet, he stresses that he is very glad to see Utterson, and he would like to invite the two men up, but "the place is really not fit." Utterson suggests then that they converse where they are, and the suggestion causes Jekyll to turn and smile at them. But suddenly his features convulse and freeze in an expression of "abject terror and despair." The narrator tells us that the change in Jekyll's expression was so instantaneous and so horrible that it "froze the very blood of the two gentlemen below." Jekyll's window is jerked down so viciously that, without a word, Utterson and Enfield turn and leave the courtyard. They do not speak to one another until they reach a neighboring thoroughfare, where there are "still some stirrings of life." Both men are so pale that when they look at one another, there is "an answering horror in their eyes." Utterson speaks softly, "God forgive us, God forgive us." Enfield nods, and the two men walk on once more in silence.

