that I was just warming up to my work.

This, however, did not last long. I presently found that I was reading
the same paragraphs over twice, simple paragraphs that did not require
such effort. Then I noticed that my mind began to wander to other
things, and the effort to recall my thoughts became harder with each
digression. Concentration was growing momentarily more difficult.
Presently I discovered that I had turned over two pages instead of one,
and had not noticed my mistake until I was well down the page. This was
becoming serious. What was the disturbing influence? It could not be
physical fatigue. On the contrary, my mind was unusually alert, and in a
more receptive condition than usual. I made a new and determined effort
to read, and for a short time succeeded in giving my whole attention to
my subject. But in a very few moments again I found myself leaning back
in my chair, staring vacantly into space.

Something was evidently at work in my sub-consciousness. There was
something I had neglected to do. Perhaps the kitchen door and windows
were not fastened. I accordingly went to see, and found that they were!
The fire perhaps needed attention. I went in to see, and found that it
was all right! I looked at the lamps, went upstairs into every bedroom
in turn, and then went round the house, and even into the ice-house.
Nothing was wrong; everything was in its place. Yet something _was_
wrong! The conviction grew stronger and stronger within me.

When I at length settled down to my books again and tried to read, I
became aware, for the first time, that the room seemed growing cold. Yet
the day had been oppressively warm, and evening had brought no relief.
The six big lamps, moreover, gave out heat enough to warm the room
pleasantly. But a chilliness, that perhaps crept up from the lake, made
itself felt in the room, and caused me to get up to close the glass door
opening on to the verandah.

For a brief moment I stood looking out at the shaft of light that fell
from the windows and shone some little distance down the pathway, and
out for a few feet into the lake.

As I looked, I saw a canoe glide into the pathway of light, and
immediately crossing it, pass out of sight again into the darkness. It
was perhaps a hundred feet from the shore, and it moved swiftly.

I was surprised that a canoe should pass the island at that time of
night, for all the summer visitors from the other side of the lake had
gone home