know what would be the
result. It might be very strange and very wonderful. Sometimes my mind is
verily haunted by the desire to see a lifeless substance move under my
spells, by the desire to be as God.'

He gave a low weird laugh, half cruel, half voluptuous. It made Margaret
shudder with sudden fright. He had thrown himself down in the chair, and
he sat in complete shadow. By a singular effect his eyes appeared
blood-red, and they stared into space, strangely parallel, with an
intensity that was terrifying. Arthur started a little and gave him a
searching glance. The laugh and that uncanny glance, the unaccountable
emotion, were extraordinarily significant. The whole thing was explained
if Oliver Haddo was mad.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Haddo's words were out of tune
with the rest of the conversation. Dr Porhoet had spoken of magical
things with a sceptical irony that gave a certain humour to the subject,
and Susie was resolutely flippant. But Haddo's vehemence put these
incredulous people out of countenance. Dr Porhoet got up to go. He shook
hands with Susie and with Margaret. Arthur opened the door for him. The
kindly scholar looked round for Margaret's terrier...

'I must bid my farewells to your little dog.'

He had been so quiet that they had forgotten his presence.

'Come here, Copper,' said Margaret.

The dog slowly slunk up to them, and with a terrified expression crouched
at Margaret's feet.

'What on earth's the matter with you?' she asked.

'He's frightened of me,' said Haddo, with that harsh laugh of his, which
gave such an unpleasant impression.

'Nonsense!'

Dr Porhoet bent down, stroked the dog's back, and shook its paw. Margaret
lifted it up and set it on a table.

'Now, be good,' she said, with lifted finger.

Dr Porhoet with a smile went out, and Arthur shut the door behind him.
Suddenly, as though evil had entered into it, the terrier sprang at
Oliver Haddo and fixed its teeth in his hand. Haddo uttered a cry, and,
shaking it off, gave it a savage kick. The dog rolled over with a loud
bark that was almost a scream of pain, and lay still for a moment as if
it were desperately hurt. Margaret cried out with horror and indignation.
A fierce rage on a sudden seized Arthur so that he scarcely knew what he
was about. The wretched brute's suffering, Margaret's terror, his own
instinctive hatred of the man, were joined together in frenzied passion.

'You brute,' he muttered.

H