get a better man to drive his car!

"Nor should you, who have two worlds of your own," she added in a lower
tone, "doubt the existence of many both dark and bright. Go, then, out
of this haunted place where a human madness broke through the Barrier.
Be satisfied with the victories you have had. Let the visits of the Dark
One fade into mere nightmare; and know I am no more a living woman than
Franchina Descartes."

"Who was she?"

"Have you not read that early in the seventeenth century there appeared
in Paris the philosopher Descartes, accompanied by the figure of a
beautiful woman? She moved, spoke, and seemed life itself; but Descartes
declared she was an automaton, a masterpiece of mechanism he himself had
made. Yet many refused to believe his story, declaring he had by sorcery
compelled a spirit to serve him in this form. He called her Franchina,
his daughter."

"And the truth?"

"I have told you all the record tells. She was soon lost. Descartes took
her with him upon a journey by sea; when, a storm arising, the
superstitious captain of the vessel threw the magic beauty into the
Mediterranean."

"Thank you. But, are you fairy or automaton?"

"Do not laugh," she exclaimed with sudden passion. "You know I would say
that I have no part in the world of men and women. Not through me shall
the ancient dread seize a new life. A little time, now, then the doors
will close upon me as the sea closed over Franchina. I will not take
with me the memory of a wrong done to you. I shall never come to this
house after tonight. If you would give me a happiness, promise me you
will leave, too."

I had known we should come to this point. After a moment, I spoke as
quietly as I could:

"Tell me your name."

She had not expected that question. I think she might have withheld the
answer, given time to reflect. But as it was, she replied docilely as a
bidden child:

"Desire Michell."

The name fell quaintly on both hearing and fancy, with a rustle of early
New England tradition. Desire! I repeated it inwardly with satisfaction
before I answered her.

"Thank you. Now, I, Roger Locke, do promise you, Desire Michell, that I
will not leave this house until these matters are plainer to my
understanding, whether you go or stay. But if you go and come no more,
then I surely shall stay until I find a way to trace you or until the
Thing kills me."

"No!"

"Yes."

There was a pause. Then, to my utter dismay, I heard her sob