Harris stood and stared for several minutes without adding anything. His
teeth chattered. The least sound made him start; but the simple words in
his own language, and the tone in which they were uttered, comforted him
inconceivably.

"You're English too, thank God," he said inconsequently. "These German
devils--" He broke off and put a hand to his eyes. "But what's become
of them all--and the room--and--and--" The hand travelled down to his
throat and moved nervously round his neck. He drew a long, long breath
of relief. "Did I dream everything--everything?" he said distractedly.

He stared wildly about him, and the stranger moved forward and took his
arm. "Come," he said soothingly, yet with a trace of command in the
voice, "we will move away from here. The high-road, or even the woods
will be more to your taste, for we are standing now on one of the most
haunted--and most terribly haunted--spots of the whole world."

He guided his companion's stumbling footsteps over the broken masonry
until they reached the path, the nettles stinging their hands, and
Harris feeling his way like a man in a dream. Passing through the
twisted iron railing they reached the path, and thence made their way to
the road, shining white in the night. Once safely out of the ruins,
Harris collected himself and turned to look back.

"But, how is it possible?" he exclaimed, his voice still shaking. "How
can it be possible? When I came in here I saw the building in the
moonlight. They opened the door. I saw the figures and heard the voices
and touched, yes touched their very hands, and saw their damned black
faces, saw them far more plainly than I see you now." He was deeply
bewildered. The glamour was still upon his eyes with a degree of reality