's married," was her last conscious thought, and a smile lingered
upon her lips as she slept. She had not enough worldly wisdom to know
that, other things being equal, a married woman may be a dangerous
rival, having the unholy charm of the unattainable, and the sanction of
another man's choice.

XI

The Hour of the Turning Night

[Sidenote: Awake in the Night]

The darkness was vibrant, keen, alive. It throbbed with consciousness,
with mysterious fibres of communication. There was no sense of a
presence in the room, nor even the possibility of a presence. It was
vague, abstract, yet curiously definite.

Edith woke from a troubled dream with a start. For a moment she lay
quietly and listened, not afraid, but interested, as though upon the
threshold of some new experience. The scurrying feet of mice made a
ghostly patter in the attic, above her room, and a vagrant wind, in
passing, tapped at her window with the fairy-like fingers of the vine
that clung to the wall.

Otherwise all was still, and yet the darkness trembled with expectancy.
Something hitherto unknown seemed to have entered her consciousness,
some thought, emotion, instinct, or what? Wide awake, staring into
space, she lay there, wondering, waiting, not in the least frightened,
but assured of shelter and of peace.

[Sidenote: Another Personality]

Gradually she had lost consciousness of her body. She had relaxed
completely and her mind soared, free. She moved one foot, cautiously, to
see whether her body was still there, and smiled when she was reassured
by the cool smoothness of the linen sheet, and the other warm little
foot she touched in moving.

Somewhere, in this same darkness, was another personality. Of so much
she eventually became sure. It was not in the room, perhaps not even in
the house, but for someone else, somewhere, was this same sense--of
communication? No, but rather the possibility of it.

Someone else had also lost consciousness of the body. Another mind,
released for the moment from its earthly prison, sought communion with
hers. Was this death, and had she wakened in another world? She moved
her foot again, pressed her hand to the warm softness of her breast,
felt her breath come and go, and even the steady beating of her heart.
Not death, then, only a pause, in which for once the body, clamorous and
imperious with its thousand needs, had given way to the soul.

The curious sense of another personality persisted. W