the old devices were of any
use. After about an hour of make-believe I surrendered myself to
facts, and, lying on my back, stared at the white ceiling and the
patches of moonshine on the walls.

It certainly was an amazing night. I got up, put on a dressing-gown,
and drew a chair to the window. The moon was almost at its full, and
the whole plateau swam in a radiance of ivory and silver. The banks of
the stream were black, but the lake had a great belt of light athwart
it, which made it seem like a horizon and the rim of land beyond it
like a contorted cloud. Far to the right I saw the delicate outlines
of the little wood which I had come to think of as the Grove of
Ashtaroth. I listened. There was not a sound in the air. The land
seemed to sleep peacefully beneath the moon, and yet I had a sense that
the peace was an illusion. The place was feverishly restless.

I could have given no reason for my impression but there it was.
Something was stirring in the wide moonlit landscape under its deep
mask of silence. I felt as I had felt on the evening three years ago
when I had ridden into the grove. I did not think that the influence,
whatever it was, was maleficent. I only knew that it was very strange,
and kept me wakeful.

By-and-by I bethought me of a book. There was no lamp in the corridor
save the moon, but the whole house was bright as I slipped down the
great staircase and across the hall to the library. I switched on the
lights and then switched them off. They seemed profanation, and I did
not need them.

I found a French novel, but the place held me and I stayed. I sat down
in an arm-chair before the fireplace and the stone birds. Very odd
those gawky things, like prehistoric Great Auks, looked in the
moonlight. I remember that the alabaster moon shimmered like
translucent pearl, and I fell to wondering about its history. Had the
old Sabaens used such a jewel in their rites in the Grove of Ashtaroth?

Then I heard footsteps pass the window. A great house like this would
have a watchman, but these quick shuffling footsteps were surely not
the dull plod of a servant. They passed on to the grass and died away.
I began to think of getting back to my room.

In the corridor I noticed that Lawson's door was ajar, and that a light
had been left burning. I had the unpardonable curiosity to peep in.
The room was empty, and the bed had not been slept in. Now I knew
whose were the footsteps outsid