ater. Silver flashes darted up, nibbled the
cloth as it floated down. He watched it for a moment, then went on along
the shaded road.

This was his chance to escape from Glen Oaks. That was what he had
wanted to do ever since he had come here five years ago to teach. He had
a good excuse now to get away from the shambling peasants whom he hated
and who returned the attitude wholeheartedly--the typical provincial's
hatred of culture and learning.

Then he entered the damp, chilled shadows of the thick wood that
separated his house from the college grounds. It was thick, dense, dark.
One small corner of it seemed almost ordinary, the rest was superstition
haunted, mysterious and brooding. This forest had provided Doctor
Spechaug many hours of escape.

He had attempted to introspect, but had never found satisfactory causes
for his having found himself running through these woods at night in his
bare feet. Nor why he sometimes hated the sunlight.

* * * * *

He tensed in the dank shadows. Someone else was in this forest with him.
It did not disturb him. Whatever was here was not alien to him or the
forest. His eyes probed the mist that slithered through the ancient
mossy trees and hanging vines. He listened, looked, but found nothing.
Birds chittered, but that was all. He sat down, his back against a
spongy tree trunk, fondled dark green moss.

As he sat there, he knew that he was waiting for someone. He shrugged.
Mysticism was not even interesting to him, ordinarily. Still, though a
behaviorist, he upheld certain instinctual motivation theories. And,
though reluctantly, he granted Freud contributory significance. He could
be an atavist, a victim of unconscious regression. Or a prey of some
insidious influence, some phenomena a rather childish science had not
yet become aware of. But it was of no importance. He was happier now
than he had ever been. He felt free--young and new. Life seemed worth
living.

Abruptly, with a lithe liquid ease, he was on his feet, body tense,
alert. Her form was vaguely familiar as she ran toward him. She dodged
from his sight, then re-appeared as the winding path cut behind screens
of foliage.

She ran with long smooth grace, and he had never seen a woman run like
that. A plain skirt was drawn high to allow long bronzed legs free
movement. Her hair streamed out, a cloud of red-gold. She kept looking
backwards and it was obvious someone was chasing her.