re of myself?"

"Oh, yes"--hurriedly--"but one of you may get hurt, and I don't want
anything to happen to either of you. Oh, Grant! You must be careful!"

He was impressed, though he did not show it. There may have been some
of that magnetic connection, of which the scientists have told us so
little, between minds tending toward each other, with sinister intent
or otherwise, when all conditions are complete. Harlson felt in his
heart that the girl's apprehensions were not altogether groundless,
but, as was said, he was in perfect health and had a pride, and he cast
away the thought and but made love. And he prospered wickedly. It was
late when the girl reached her home again, and she went in tremblingly
and silently. So bent had been their footsteps that neither Harrison
Woodell nor other living thing could have been near them and unseen.

Down the tree-fringed roadway and across the field to the barn went
Harlson, and wondered somewhat at himself. Into what had he developed,
and how would it all end? He was elated, but uneasy. He was glad the
fence was nearing completion, and that with the money due him life in
the big city would begin. He clambered upon the clover-mow, and tossed
about uneasily on the blanket upon which he had thrown himself still
dressed. It was some time before he slept, and then odd dreams came.

He thought he had taken Jenny to the town, and that Mrs. Rolfston
seemed always near them, yet in hiding. They could not get away from
her. Then came a time when she had crept up behind them and over his
head had thrown a noose, and was drawing it tighter and tighter and
strangling him, and he could not, somehow, raise his hands to free
himself. He was suffocating! He struggled in his agony and
awoke--awoke to find his dream no dream at all! to feel a hand on his
throat, a knee upon his chest, and to know that he was being choked to
death!

More than once in later life Grant Harlson felt himself very near the
line which men who have crossed once may not repass, but never later
came to him the feeling of this moment. It was but a flash of thought,
for the physical being's upheaval followed in an instant, but it was a
flash of horror. Then began an awful struggle.

Borne down deeply in the yielding clover, Harlson had little chance to
exert his strength, which, with that grip upon his throat, could not
last long at most; but he writhed with all the force of desperation,
and wrenched