noticed, as the eyes of Sanderson had shone several hours ago; and his
face was flushed, distraught. Anxiety was written upon every feature.
And, instantly, recognizing that the fever was upon him, she forgot her
terror temporarily in practical considerations. He came back to bed
without waking. She closed his eyelids. Presently he composed himself
quietly to sleep, or rather to deeper sleep. She contrived to make him
swallow something from the tumbler beside the bed.

Then she rose very quietly to close the window, feeling the night air
blow in too fresh and keen. She put the candle where it could not reach
him. The sight of the big Baxter Bible beside it comforted her a little,
but all through her under-being ran the warnings of a curious alarm. And
it was while in the act of fastening the catch with one hand and pulling
the string of the blind with the other, that her husband sat up again in
bed and spoke in words this time that were distinctly audible. The eyes
had opened wide again. He pointed. She stood stock still and listened,
her shadow distorted on the blind. He did not come out towards her as at
first she feared.

The whispering voice was very clear, horrible, too, beyond all she had
ever known.

"They are roaring in the Forest further out... and I... must go and
see." He stared beyond her as he said it, to the woods. "They are
needing me. They sent for me...." Then his eyes wandering back again to
things within the room, he lay down, his purpose suddenly changed. And
that change was horrible as well, more horrible, perhaps, because of its
revelation of another detailed world he moved in far away from her.

The singular phrase chilled her blood, for a moment she was utterly