arm by learning what she
was, unless she had evil to conceal? Did I fear to know the truth? As
for the book's existence, I had only to accept guidance from It----?

I persisted in refusal. But the idea of the book followed me through my
days like a wizard's familiar dogging me. Where could such a volume be
hidden, in what secret nook in wall or floor? How came a book to be
written about the girl I supposed young, unknown and set apart from the
world? Was I letting slip an opportunity by my fastidious notions of
delicacy?

Indecision and curiosity tormented me beyond rest. Phillida and Vere
began to consider me with puzzled eyes. Cristina developed a habit of
cooking individual dishes of especial succulence and triumphantly
setting them before me as a "surprise"; a kindness which of course
obliged me to eat whether I was hungry or not. I suspect my little
cousin abetted her in this transparent ruse. I pleaded the heat as an
excuse for all. We were in late August now. Cicadas sang their dry chant
in the fields, where the sun glared down upon Vere's crops and painted
him the fine bronze of an Indian. Our lake scarcely stirred under the
hot, still air.

It was after a day of such heat, succeeded by a night hardly more cool,
that the lights in my room quietly went out. I was sitting at my table,
some letters which required answers spread before me while I brooded,
pen between my fingers, upon the mystery which had become my life. For
the moment I attributed the sudden failure of light to some accident at
the powerhouse.

Not for long! The hateful cold that crept like freezing vapor into the
room, the foul air of damp and corruption pouring into the scented
country atmosphere, the frantic revolt of body and nerves--before I
turned my eyes to the window I knew the monster from the Frontier
crouched there.

"Weakling!" It taunted me. "Puny from of old, how should you prevail? By
your fear, the woman stays mine. Miserable earth-crawler, in whose hand
the weapon was laid and who shrinking let it fall unused, the end
comes."

"The book?" I gasped, against my better judgment.

"The book was the weapon."

"No, or you would not have offered it to me."

"Coward, believe so. Hug the belief while you may. The offer is past."

Past? A madness of bafflement and frustrated curiosity gripped and shook
me.

"I take the offer," I cried in passion and defiance. "If there is such a
book, show it to me!"

The Thing was gone. Lig