, reaching up, dislodged the
harmless box. A last dying wail accompanied his act. Then the big winged
fan revolved silently above them in the dark night.

"Blythey," cried Roy gently; "look up. It's just Warde and me. What's
the matter? Tell us, can't you? What's the trouble?"

"I've got her--I can see her--she called me--" was all Blythe could say.
"Did you hear her call--loud? I knew--I came--no--_no!_" he fairly
screamed, as Warde tried to lift his head and discover what he held. "I
came back--back to life--I was dead--you would have buried me--can't you
see I'm alive--you--scouts--"

His head shook, he clutched at his breast, the hand which Roy tried to
grasp trembled and was like ice. The two scouts saw that there was no
use talking with him. The wretched creature was out of his senses.
Huddling in a posture of abject terror he clutched the object which he
held tighter against his breast, his head bowed and shaking, his whole
form in convulsion.

"Do you know where you are, Blythey?" Warde asked.

"In the lower field--where they're making hay," Blythe answered.

They tried no more at questioning him.

"We want you to come with us, Blythey," Roy said. His voice was
friendly, kindly, albeit he was himself disturbed and fearful. For
neither of the boys knew what this pathetic, demon-haunted creature
might do next.

"We're your friends," Warde added. "Can't you get up and come with
us--and go to bed. Don't you remember all about camp-fire, and Pee-wee,
and all the fun we had? There isn't any voice now, it's gone away."

But for all their kindness and resolve to help him, they felt certain
qualms, both of conscience and of fear. The all too conclusive proof
that he was a fugitive and that his hands and disordered brain were red
with blood were strengthened by this uncanny adventure.

To them the vision that he had seen, the voice that had lured him and
brought him to this pitiful state were the face and voice of his
victim--a woman. He had seen her, as such wretched, remorseful creatures
ever do....

The big fan revolving silently above them in the brisk wind seemed
almost to bespeak a kind of quiet satisfaction that it had brought his
crime back home to him, and laid him low there upon that ghostly tower.

It was not without a feeling of relief that the two scouts heard the
cheering voices of their comrades approaching through the darkness. They
had been aroused, no doubt, by the piercing scream of Blythe