on our hands and knees to get
away from it. Something trod upon my left hand, and I felt the bones
splinter under the weight.

"A light! A light!" some one yelled.

"Moir, you have matches, matches!"

"No, I have none. Deacon, where are the matches? For God's sake, the
matches!"

"I can't find them. Here, you Frenchman, stop it!"

"It is beyond me. Oh, _mon Dieu_, I cannot stop it. The door! Where is
the door?"

My hand, by good luck, lit upon the handle as I groped about in the
darkness. The hard-breathing, snorting, rushing creature tore past me
and butted with a fearful crash against the oaken partition. The instant
that it had passed I turned the handle, and next moment we were all
outside, and the door shut behind us. From within came a horrible
crashing and rending and stamping.

"What is it? In Heaven's name, what is it?"

"A horse. I saw it when the door opened. But Mrs. Delamere----?"

"We must fetch her out. Come on, Markham; the longer we wait the less we
shall like it."

He flung open the door and we rushed in. She was there on the ground
amidst the splinters of her chair. We seized her and dragged her swiftly
out, and as we gained the door I looked over my shoulder into the
darkness. There were two strange eyes glowing at us, a rattle of hoofs,
and I had just time to slam the door when there came a crash upon it
which split it from top to bottom.

"It's coming through! It's coming!"

"Run, run for your lives!" cried the Frenchman.

Another crash, and something shot through the riven door. It was a long
white spike, gleaming in the lamplight. For a moment it shone before us,
and then with a snap it disappeared again.

"Quick! Quick! This way!" Harvey Deacon shouted. "Carry her in! Here!
Quick!"

We had taken refuge in the dining-room, and shut the heavy oak door. We
laid the senseless woman upon the sofa, and as we did so, Moir, the hard
man of business, drooped and fainted across the hearth-rug. Harvey
Deacon was as white as a corpse, jerking and twitching like an
epileptic. With a crash we heard the studio door fly to pieces, and the
snorting and stamping were in the passage, up and down, shaking the
house with their fury. The Frenchman had sunk his face on his hands, and
sobbed like a frightened child.

"What shall we do?" I shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Is a gun any
use?"

"No, no. The power will pass. Then it will end."

"You might have killed us all--you unspeakable fool-