my courage, kill the coward in me.

I threw myself upon the mare, and rode out at a gallop towards the moors
of Eskdale along the lonely country roads.

All day I rode, and all day I thought of that dark house, of that
white creature awaiting my return, peering from the windows, perhaps,
listening for my horse's hoofs on the gravel, keeping still the long
vigil of vengeance.

My imagination sickened, fainted, as my wearied horse stumbled along
the shadowy roads. My terror was too great now to be physical. It was a
terror purely of the spirit, and indescribable.

To sleep with that white thing that waited me! To lie in the dark by it!
To know that it was there, close to me!

If it killed me, what matter? It was to live and to be near it, with it,
that appalled me.

The lights of the house gleamed out through the trees. I heard the sound
of the river.

I got off my horse and walked furtively into the hall, looking round me.

Margot glided up to me immediately, and took my whip and hat from me
with her soft, velvety white hands. I shivered at her touch.

At dinner her blue eyes watched me.

I could not eat, but I drank more wine than usual.

When I turned to go down to the smoking-room, she said: "Don't be very
long, Ronald."

I muttered I scarcely know what words in reply. It was close on midnight
before I went to bed. When I entered her room, shielding the light of
the candle with my hand, she was still awake.

Nestling against the pillows, she stretched herself curiously and smiled
up at me.

"I thought you were never coming, dear," she said.

I knew that I was very pale, but she did not remark it. I got into bed,
but left the candle still burning.

Presently she said:

"Why don't you put the candle out?"

I looked at her furtively. Her face seemed to me carved in stone, it was
so rigid, so expressionless. She lay away from me at the extreme edge of
the bed, sideways, with her hands toward me.

"Why don't you?" she repeated, with her blue eyes on me.

"I don't feel sleepy," I answered slowly.

"You never will while there is a light in the room," she said.

"You wish me to put it out?"

"Yes. How odd you are to-night, Ronald! Is anything the matter?"

"No," I answered; and I blew the light out.

How ghastly the darkness was!

I believed she meant to smother me in my sleep. I knew it. I determined
to keep awake.

It was horrible to think that, as we lay there, she could see me all the