dropped behind me. In a little while I looked back. He was following
me no longer; he stood irresolute. I called to him. He advanced a few
steps--hesitated--and ran back to the house.

I went on by myself. Shall I confess my superstition? I thought the
dog's desertion of me a bad omen.

Arrived at the tree, I placed myself under it. The minutes followed each
other uneventfully. The cloudy sky darkened. The dull surface of the
grass showed no shuddering consciousness of an unearthly creature
passing over it.

I still waited, with an obstinacy which was fast becoming the obstinacy
of despair. How long an interval elapsed, while I kept watch on the
ground before me, I am not able to say. I only know that a change came.

Under the dull gray light I saw the grass move--but not as it had moved,
on the day before. It shriveled as if a flame had scorched it. No flame
appeared. The brown underlying earth showed itself winding onward in
a thin strip--which might have been a footpath traced in fire. It
frightened me. I longed for the protection of the Invisible Presence. I
prayed for a warning of it, if danger was near.

A touch answered me. It was as if a hand unseen had taken my hand--had
raised it, little by little--had left it, pointing to the thin brown
path that wound toward me under the shriveled blades of grass.

I looked to the far end of the path.

The unseen hand closed on my hand with a warning pressure: the
revelation of the coming danger was near me--I waited for it. I saw it.

The figure of a man appeared, advancing toward me along the thin brown
path. I looked in his face as he came nearer. It showed me dimly the
face of my husband's brother--John Zant.

The consciousness of myself as a living creature left me. I knew
nothing; I felt nothing. I was dead.

When the torture of revival made me open my eyes, I found myself on the
grass. Gentle hands raised my head, at the moment when I recovered my
senses. Who had brought me to life again? Who was taking care of me?

I looked upward, and saw--bending over me--John Zant.

VII.

THERE, the manuscript ended.

Some lines had been added on the last page; but they had been so
carefully erased as to be illegible. These words of explanation appeared
below the canceled sentences:

"I had begun to write the little that remains to be told, when it struck
me that I might, unintentionally, be exercising an unfair influence on
your opinion. Let me only remind you t