nimosity of that 'he,' uttered only just under his breath,
surprised even himself. It actually did seem as if there were a chance;
if only he kept cool and collected. If the whole mind of a man was bent
on being one thing, surely no power on earth, certainly not on earth,
could for long compel him to look another, any more (followed the
resplendent thought) than vice versa.

That, in fact, was the trick that had been in fitful fashion played him
since yesterday. Obviously, and apart altogether from his promise to
Sheila, the best possible thing he could do would be to walk quietly
over to Widderstone to-morrow and like a child that has lost a penny,
just make the attempt to reverse the process: look at the graves, read
the inscriptions on the weather-beaten stones, compose himself once more
to sleep on the little seat.

Magic, witchcraft, possession, and all that--well, Mr Bethany might
prefer to take it on the authority of the Bible if it was his duty. But
it was at least mainly Old Testament stuff, like polygamy, Joshua, and
the 'unclean beasts.' The 'unclean beasts.' It was simply, as Simon had
said, mainly an affair of the nerves, like Indian jugglery. He had heard
of dozens of such cases, or similar cases. And it was hardly likely
that cases even remotely like his own would be much bragged about, or
advertised. All those mysterious 'disappearances,' too, which one
reads about so repeatedly? What of them? Even now, he felt (and glanced
swiftly behind him at the fancy), it would be better to think as softly
as possible, not to hope too openly, certainly not to triumph in the
least degree, just in case of--well--listeners.

He would wrap up too. And he wouldn't tell Sheila of the project till
he had come safely back. What an excellent joke it would be to confess
meekly to his escapade, and to be scolded, and then suddenly to reveal
himself. He sat back and gazed with an almost malignant animosity at the
face in the portrait, comely and plump.

An inarticulate, unfathomable depression rolled back on him, like a
mist out of the sea. He hastily undressed, put watch and door-key and
Critchett's powder under his pillow, paused, vacantly ruminated, and
then replaced the powder in his waistcoat pocket, said his prayers, and
got shivering to bed. He did not feel hurt at Sheila's leaving him like
this. So long as she really believed in him. And now--Alice was home. He
listened, trying not to shiver, for her voice; and somet