he vineyards and the olive
gardens. We know what happened to those who chanced to meet the Great
God Pan, and those who are wise know that all symbols are symbols of
something, not of nothing. It was, indeed, an exquisite symbol beneath
which men long ago veiled their knowledge of the most awful, most
secret forces which lie at the heart of all things; forces before which
the souls of men must wither and die and blacken, as their bodies
blacken under the electric current. Such forces cannot be named, cannot
be spoken, cannot be imagined except under a veil and a symbol, a
symbol to the most of us appearing a quaint, poetic fancy, to some a
foolish tale. But you and I, at all events, have known something of the
terror that may dwell in the secret place of life, manifested under
human flesh; that which is without form taking to itself a form. Oh,
Austin, how can it be? How is it that the very sunlight does not turn
to blackness before this thing, the hard earth melt and boil beneath
such a burden?"

Villiers was pacing up and down the room, and the beads of sweat stood
out on his forehead. Austin sat silent for a while, but Villiers saw
him make a sign upon his breast.

"I say again, Villiers, you will surely never enter such a house as
that? You would never pass out alive."

"Yes, Austin, I shall go out alive--I, and Clarke with me."

"What do you mean? You cannot, you would not dare..."

"Wait a moment. The air was very pleasant and fresh this morning;
there was a breeze blowing, even through this dull street, and I
thought I would take a walk. Piccadilly stretched before me a clear,
bright vista, and the sun flashed on the carriages and on the quivering
leaves in the park. It was a joyous morning, and men and women looked
at the sky and smiled as they went about their work or their pleasure,
and the wind blew as blithely as upon the meadows and the scented
gorse. But somehow or other I got out of the bustle and the gaiety,
and found myself walking slowly along a quiet, dull street, where there
seemed to be no sunshine and no air, and where the few foot-passengers
loitered as they walked, and hung indecisively about corners and
archways. I walked along, hardly knowing where I was going or what I
did there, but feeling impelled, as one sometimes is, to explore still
further, with a vague idea of reaching some unknown goal. Thus I
forged up the street, noting the small traffic of the milk-shop, and
wond