to the spirit. The tribes of Darkest Africa, seeing many things that
in their barbarism they can not understand, find it wiser to turn
to superstition than to go mad. Thus they escape that bitter,
nerve-wracking struggle of trying to adjust some inexplicable mystery
with their every-day laws of matter and space and time. They likely find
it happier to believe in witchcraft than to fight hopelessly with fear
in silence.

A little freedom, a little easy expression of secret thoughts might have
redeemed those long, silent hours just before nightfall. But no man told
another what he was really thinking, and every man had to win his battle
for himself. The result was inevitable: a growing tension and suspense
in the very air.

It was a strange atmosphere that gathered over Kastle Krags in those
early evening hours. Some way it gave no image of reality. It was
vaguely hard to talk--the mind moved along certain channels and could
not be turned aside. We couldn't disregard the fact that the night was
falling. The hours of darkness were even now upon us. And no man could
keep from thinking of their possibilities.

I noticed a certain irritability on the part of all the guests.
Their nerves were on edge, their tempers--almost forgotten in their
years of social intercourse--excitable and uncertain. They were all
pre-occupied, busy with their own thoughts--and a man started when
another spoke to him.

It couldn't be truly said that they had been conquered by fear. These
were self-reliant, masterful men, trained from the ground up to be
strong in the face of danger. Yet the mystery of Kastle Krags was
getting to them. They couldn't forget that for two nights running some
power that dwelt on that eerie shore had claimed one of the occupants of
the manor house--and that a third night was even now encroaching over
the forest. Any legend however strange concerning the old house could
not wake laughter now. It was true that from time to time one of
the guests laughed at another's sallies, but always the sound rang
shockingly loud over the verandas and was some way disquieting to every
one that heard it. Nor did we hear any happy, carefree laughter such as
had filled the halls that first night. Rather these were nervous,
excited sounds, conveying no image of mirth, and jarring unpleasantly on
us all.

The hot spell of the previous night was fortunately broken, yet some of
us chose to sit on the verandas. Through rifts in the trees