r. Temple?--a red hand appears from the water, and whoever sees it will
be led to commit murder?"

"Oh, there are dozens of stories about the place," said Tom. "Indeed,
there is scarcely a youth or maiden who will be seen here after dark."

"Why?" asked Voltaire, suddenly.

"Oh, as I said just now, it is reported to be haunted; but, more than
that, the pond is said to have an evil power. Some say that if any one
sees the place for the first time alone, his hands will be red with
blood before a month passes away."

"Then that will refer to me," I said. "But surely such nonsense is not
believed in now?"

"These things are not nonsense," said Voltaire. "Earth and heaven are
full of occult forces." I paid no further attention to the subject at
the time, but this conversation came back to me with terrible force in
the after-days.

For a while we chatted on ordinary subjects, and then, remounting our
horses, we prepared to ride back. During this time I had felt entirely
free from any of the strange influences I have described, and I began to
wonder at it; especially so as Miss Forrest had voluntarily come to my
side, and we had galloped away together.

We took a roundabout road to Temple Hall, and so were longer together,
and again I was happy.

"I thought you were not coming," she said. "What in the world drew you
away so suddenly?"

I tried to tell her, but I could not. Every time I began to speak of the
influence Voltaire had exerted I was seemingly tongue-tied. No words
would come.

"I was very sorry," I said at length, "but you did not want a companion.
Mr. Voltaire came."

"Yes, he overtook us. Is he not a wonderful man?"

"Yes," I said absently.

"I was so sorry you allowed yourself to be placed under his influence
last night. Did you not hear me asking you to avoid having anything to
do with him?"

"Yes," I said, "I am sorry. I was a coward."

"I do not understand him," she said. "He fascinates while he repels. One
almost hates him, and yet one is obliged to admire him. No one could
want him as a friend, while to make him an enemy would be terrible."

I could not help shuddering as she spoke. I had made him my enemy, and
the thought was terrible.

"He does not like you," she went on; "he did not like the way you
regarded his magical story and his thought-reading. Were I you, I should
have no further communications with him. I should politely ignore him."

I watched her face as she spoke. Surely