ys. He didn't know. He could only flee in fear ... and hope....

At times, in the years that had passed since his abrupt breaking-off of
his romance with Eve Lawton, he had wondered a little about why he had
dropped her so quickly, just when his mother's death seemed to open the
path for their marriage.

Now he knew that youthful instinct had served him better than he knew.
Somehow, beneath the charm and wit and beauty of the girl, he had sensed
the domineering woman. Perhaps a lifetime with his mother had made him
extra-aware of Eve's desire to dominate without its reaching his
conscious mind.

But to have exchanged the velvet glove of his mother for the velvet
glove of Eve would have meant a lifetime of bondage. He would never have
been his own man, never....

He could feel cold sweat bathe his body once more as he sped past the
Brigham Farm. According to his wristwatch just eight and a quarter
minutes had elapsed since Eve had left him and gone upstairs. He felt a
sudden urge to turn around and go back to her--he knew she would forgive
his attempt to run away. After all, he couldn't even guess at what would
happen when he reached the outer limit of the machine's influence. Would
he be in 1934 or 1954--or irretrievably lost in some timeless nowhere at
all?

He thought again of what Eve had said about yachts and world traveling
and wondered how she could hope to do so if the radius of influence was
only five miles. Eve might be passionate, headstrong and neurotic, but
she was not a fool. If she had planned travel on a world of two decades
past she must have found a way of making his and her stay in that past
permanent, without trammels.

If she had altered the machine ... But she wouldn't have until he was
caught in her trap when, inevitably, he returned to look at the scenes
of his childhood. He tried to recall what she had done, what gestures
she had made, when she demonstrated the machine. As nearly as he could
remember, all Eve had done was to pluck out his nail parings, the bit of
hair and scarf, then return them to their receptacle.

Voodoo.... She was close to mad. Or perhaps he was mad himself. He wiped
his streaming forehead with a sleeve, barely avoided overturning as he
rounded a curve flanked by signboards....

He felt a bump....

And suddenly he was in the big convertible again, guiding it over to one
of the parking lanes at the side of the magnificent two-laned highway.
He looked down at his sl