r. She rewrote it many
times, and every time it became more difficult to reply. At last she put
her letter aside for a few days, and when it fell again into her hand it
seemed so unnatural and strained that she destroyed it.

Thus several weeks had passed, and Ernest no longer exclusively occupied
her mind when, one day early in September, while glancing over a
magazine, she came upon his name in the table of contents. Once more
she saw the boy's wistful face before her, and a trembling something
stirred in her heart. Her hand shook as she cut the pages, and a mist of
tears clouded her vision as she attempted to read his poem. It was a
piece of sombre brilliance. Like black-draped monks half crazed with
mystic devotion, the poet's thoughts flitted across the page. It was the
wail of a soul that feels reason slipping from it and beholds madness
rise over its life like a great pale moon. A strange unrest emanated
from it and took possession of her. And again, with an insight that was
prophetic, she distinctly recognised behind the vague fear that had
haunted the poet the figure of Reginald Clarke.

A half-forgotten dream, struggling to consciousness, staggered her by
its vividness. She saw Clarke as she had seen him in days gone by,
grotesquely transformed into a slimy sea-thing, whose hungry mouths shut
sucking upon her and whose thousand tentacles encircled her form. She
closed her eyes in horror at the reminiscence. And in that moment it
became clear to her that she must take into her hands the salvation of
Ernest Fielding from the clutches of the malign power that had
mysteriously enveloped his life.

XIX

The summer was brief, and already by the middle of September many had
returned to the pleasures of urban life. Ethel was among the
first-comers; for, after her resolve to enter the life of the young poet
once more, it would have been impossible for her to stay away from the
city much longer. Her plan was all ready. Before attempting to see
Ernest she would go to meet Reginald and implore him to free the boy
from his hideous spell. An element of curiosity unconsciously entered
her determination. When, years ago, she and Clarke had parted, the man
had seemed, for once, greatly disturbed and had promised, in his
agitation, that some day he would communicate to her what would
exonerate him in her eyes. She had answered that all words between them
were purposeless, and that she hoped never to see his face aga