er-plants," it says. "I am a refuge, a way of escape. This horror and
nightmare of life cannot reach you in my bosom. Come down to me. I
promise nothing but to lay my cool hand upon the fire in your brain, and
that the world shall release its clutch upon you, the world which
promises, and will not keep its promises. I will keep mine."

Hugh's mind wavered, as the flame of a candle wavers in a sudden
draught. So had it wavered once in the fear of death, and he had yielded
to that fear. So it wavered now in a greater fear, the fear of life, and
he yielded to that fear.

He caught up his hat and went out.

It was dark, and he hit against the people in the feebly lighted streets
as he hurried past. How hot it was! How absurd to see those gathered
heaps of snow, and the muffled figures of men and women.

Presently he had left the town, and was in the open country. Where was
he going along this interminable road in this dim snow light?

The night was very still. The spirit of the frost stooped over the white
face of the earth. The long homely lines of meadow and wold and hedgerow
showed like the austere folds of a shroud.

Hugh walked swiftly, looking neither to right nor left. The fire in his
brain mounted, mounted. The moon, entangled in a dim thicket, got up
behind him.

At last he stopped short. That farm on the right! He had seen it before.
Yes. That was Greenfields. Doll had pointed it out to him when they had
walked on that Sunday afternoon to Beaumere. They had left the road
here, and had taken to the fields. There was the gate. Hugh opened it.
Crack had been lost here and had rejoined them in the wood. The field
was empty. A path like a crease ran across it.

He knew the way. It was the only way of escape from this shadow in front
of him, this other self who had come back to him, and torn Rachel from
him, and made her hate him. She loved him really. She was faithful. She
would never have forsaken him. But she had mistaken this evil creeping
shadow for him, and he had not been able to explain. But she would
understand presently. He would make it all very clear and plain, and she
would love him again, when he had got rid of this other Hugh. He would
take him down and drown him in Beaumere. It was the only way to get rid
of him. And he, the real Hugh, would get safely through. He had done it
once, and he knew. He should stifle and struggle for a little while.
There was a turn exceeding sharp to be passed, but he