umas's novels. Suddenly I was gripped--gripped
and dragged from the couch. It is only thus that I can describe the
overpowering nature of the force which pounced upon me. I clawed at
the coverlet. I clung to the wood-work. I believe that I screamed out
in my frenzy. It was all useless, hopeless. I MUST go. There was no
way out of it. It was only at the outset that I resisted. The force
soon became too overmastering for that. I thank goodness that there
were no watchers there to interfere with me. I could not have answered
for myself if there had been. And, besides the determination to get
out, there came to me, also, the keenest and coolest judgment in
choosing my means. I lit a candle and endeavored, kneeling in front of
the door, to pull the key through with the feather-end of a quill pen.
It was just too short and pushed it further away. Then with quiet
persistence I got a paper-knife out of one of the drawers, and with
that I managed to draw the key back. I opened the door, stepped into
my study, took a photograph of myself from the bureau, wrote something
across it, placed it in the inside pocket of my coat, and then started
off for Wilson's.

It was all wonderfully clear, and yet disassociated from the rest of my
life, as the incidents of even the most vivid dream might be. A
peculiar double consciousness possessed me. There was the predominant
alien will, which was bent upon drawing me to the side of its owner,
and there was the feebler protesting personality, which I recognized as
being myself, tugging feebly at the overmastering impulse as a led
terrier might at its chain. I can remember recognizing these two
conflicting forces, but I recall nothing of my walk, nor of how I was
admitted to the house.

Very vivid, however, is my recollection of how I met Miss Penclosa.
She was reclining on the sofa in the little boudoir in which our
experiments had usually been carried out. Her head was rested on her
hand, and a tiger-skin rug had been partly drawn over her. She looked
up expectantly as I entered, and, as the lamp-light fell upon her face,
I could see that she was very pale and thin, with dark hollows under
her eyes. She smiled at me, and pointed to a stool beside her. It was
with her left hand that she pointed, and I, running eagerly forward,
seized it,--I loathe myself as I think of it,--and pressed it
passionately to my lips. Then, seating myself upon the stool, and
still retaining h