arments, passed with its usual vigorous gait across the burning
sunlight on the lawn and broad gravel walk, to disappear under the
awning of a French window. Milly, very pale, had closed her eyes and her
hands were clasped. She trembled, but her voice and expression were calm
and even resolute.

"The evil spirit is trying to get possession of me in another way now,"
she said. "But with God's help I shall be able to resist it."

Ian too was pale and disturbed. It was to him as though he had suddenly
heard a beloved voice calling faintly for help.

"It's only automatic writing, dear," he replied. "You may not have been
aware you were writing, but it probably reflects something in your
thoughts."

"It does not," returned she, firmly. "However miserable I may sometimes
be, I could never wish to give up a moment of my life with you, my own
husband, or to leave you and our child to the influence of this--this
being."

She stretched out her arms to him.

"Please hold me, Ian, and will as I do, that I may resist this horrible
invasion. I have a feeling that you can help me."

He hesitated. "I, darling? But I don't believe--"

She approached him, and took hold of him urgently, looking him in the
eyes.

"Won't you do it, husband dear? Please, for my sake, even if you don't
believe, promise you'll will to keep me here. Will it, with all your
might!"

What madness it was, this fantastic scene upon the well-kept lawn, under
the square windows of the sober, opulent North Country house! And the
maddest part of it all was the horrible reluctance he felt to comply
with his wife's wish. He seemed to himself to pause noticeably before
answering her with a meaningless half-laugh:

"Of course I'll promise anything you like, dear."

He put his arms around her and rested his face upon her golden head.

"Will!" she whispered, and the voice was one of command rather than of
appeal. "Will! You have promised."

He willed as she commanded him.

The triple madness of it! He did not believe--and yet it seemed to him
that the being he loved best in all the world was struggling up from
below, calling to him for help from her tomb; and he was helping her
enemy to hold down the sepulchral stone above her. He put his hand to
his brow, and the sweat stood upon it.

Aunt Beatrice's masculine foot crunched the gravel. She stood there
dressed and ready for the drive, beckoning them with her parasol. They
came across the lawn holding each