re the drawing-room might
have been under the Shadow for aught we knew talking with the intimacy
of gipsies by the wayside, or of wounded comparing notes after a
skirmish. By eleven o'clock the three between them had given me every
name and detail they could recall that in any way bore on the house, and
what they knew of its history.

We went to bed in a fortifying blaze of electric light. My one fear was
that the blasting gust of depression would return--the surest way,
of course, to bring it. I lay awake till dawn, breathing quickly and
sweating lightly, beneath what De Quincey inadequately describes as
"the oppression of inexpiable guilt." Now as soon as the lovely day was
broken, I fell into the most terrible of all dreams--that joyous one in
which all past evil has not only been wiped out of our lives, but has
never been committed; and in the very bliss of our assured innocence,
before our loves shriek and change countenance, we wake to the day we
have earned.

It was a coolish morning, but we preferred to breakfast in the south
verandah. The forenoon we spent in the garden, pretending to play games
that come out of boxes, such as croquet and clock golf. But most of the
time we drew together and talked. The young man who knew all about South
American railways took Miss M'Leod for a walk in the afternoon, and at
five M'Leod thoughtfully whirled us all up to dine in town.

"Now, don't say you will tell the Psychological Society, and that you
will come again," said Miss M'Leod, as we parted. "Because I know you
will not."

"You should not say that," said her mother. "You should say, 'Goodbye,
Mr. Perseus. Come again.'"

"Not him!" the girl cried. "He has seen the Medusa's head!"

Looking at myself in the restaurant's mirrors, it seemed to me that I
had not much benefited by my week-end. Next morning I wrote out all
my Holmescroft notes at fullest length, in the hope that by so doing
I could put it all behind me. But the experience worked on my mind, as
they say certain imperfectly understood rays work on the body.

I am less calculated to make a Sherlock Holmes than any man I know,
for I lack both method and patience, yet the idea of following up the
trouble to its source fascinated me. I had no theory to go on, except
a vague idea that I had come between two poles of a discharge, and had
taken a shock meant for some one else. This was followed by a feeling
of intense irritation. I waited cautiously on myself,