e was in such a hurry with
his imaginary message."

"Poor fellow," came from the obverse side of the sash.

"Yes, poor fellow," the narrator assented. "I understood his
hallucination at once. When a man is suddenly placed in mortal peril,
his past life dashes before him. Half drowned men afterward tell of
reviewing in a minute the events of years. It is a curious mental
phenomenon. Well, this poor chap had that familiar experience, but with
a singular sequence. The impression that all his lifetime before the
accident happened in a brief time has remained in his disordered mind.
He believes that his whole earthly existence is condensed--that future
years, as well as his past ones, are compressed into days, and his days
into minutes. Nothing can disabuse him of this idea. Everything is to
him ephemeral. That's why I nicknamed him Eph--short for Ephemeral, you
see. He doesn't remember his real name, and on the roll he had only a
number. He has done his work well enough until within a few days, but
now his malady seems to have turned to the worst. He has talked wildly
of getting some physicians to check the speed of time with him, and it
may have been that he wished to telegraph to this fancied expert."

"It is singular," Mary said, "and very sad."

The midnight incident seemed to have come to a conclusion. It was a
proper time for Gerald to say good-night and go away. He still stood on
the opposite side of the half-open sash, around the edge of which
appeared a small set of finger tips, which pulled the screen a little
closer, showing that the girl was minded to shut herself in. But a hand
twice as big opposed hers, gently yet strongly, and in doing so it
touched hers; upon which she let go, and the window flew open.

"Oh, you mustn't see me," Mary exclaimed, as Gerald got a vanishing
glimpse of the white-draped figure. "Good-night."

"You will be afraid if left alone," Gerald protested; "you can't go to
sleep, nervous as you must be."

"I surely can't go to sleep talking," was her rejoinder, with the first
touch of coquetry she had indulged in at Overlook.

"I won't talk, then. I'll only keep guard out here until daylight. Eph
may return."

"But there's the watchman. It is his duty."

"It would be my delight."

That silenced the invisible inmate of the cabin. The moon shone into the
square opening, but Mary was ensconced somewhere in the darkness that
bordered the income of light.

"Should I apologize?" Ger