of those die as he dies--not for passion, but for
protection of the woman--not as a madman or one ignorant, but facing
that which was not meant for man to face, his eyes beating back the
intolerable Eyes. Oh, glory and grief of mine to have seen this!"

Phillida cowered lower in her chair, burying her face in the cushions.
But Vere abruptly stood erect, his fine dark face lifted and set. Just
so some ancestors of his might have risen in a bleak New England
meeting-house when moved powerfully to wrestle with evil in prayer. But
it is doubtful if any Maine deacon ever addressed his Deity as Vere
appealed to his.

"Almighty, we're in places we don't understand," he spoke simply as to a
friend within the room, his earnest, drawling speech entirely natural.
"But You know them as You do us. If things have got to go this way, why,
we'll make out the best we can. But if they don't, and we're just
blundering into trouble, please save Roger Locke and this poor girl.
Because we know You can. Amen."

Now at this strange and beautiful prayer--or so it seemed to me--a ray
of blinding light cleaved up from where Vere stood, like a shot arrow
speeding straight through house and night into inconceivable space. Then
the room vanished from my sight as the great wave burst out of the mist
upon me.

I went down in a smother of ghastly snarling floods cold as space is
cold. Something fled past me up the strand, shrieking inhuman passion;
the Eyes of my enemy glared briefly across my vision.

One last view I glimpsed of that dread Barrier, amid the tumult and
welter of my passing. The breach was closed! Unbroken, majestic, the
enormous Wall stood up inviolate.

CHAPTER XXI

"Fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home."
--COWPER.

The uproar of rushing waters was still in my ears. But I was in my chair
before the hearth in the living room of the farmhouse, and the noise was
the din of a tempest outside.

Opposite me, Phillida and Desire were clinging together, watching me
with such looks of gladness and anxiety that I felt myself abashed
before them. Bagheera, the cat, sat on the table beside the lamp, yellow
eyes blinking at each flash and rattle of lightning and thunder, while
he sleeked his recently wetted fur. Wondering where that wet had come
from, I discovered presently that the fire was out, and the hearth
drenched with soot-st