same race of words that had come from him the whole evening, "and made
them your own, your slaves, you have no idea of the power that is in
them--hunger, that shows lights beckoning beyond the grave; thirst, that
fills with mingled ice and fire; passion, love, loneliness, revenge,
and--" He paused for a minute, and though I knew we were on the brink I
was powerless to hold him. " . . . _and fear_," he went on--"fear . . .
I think that death from fear, or madness from fear, must sum up in a
second of time the total of all the most awful sensations it is possible
for a man to know."

"Then you have yourself felt something of this fear," I interrupted;
"for you said just now--"

"I do not mean physical fear," he replied; "for that is more or less a
question of nerves and will, and it is imagination that makes men
cowards. I mean an _absolute_ fear, a physical fear one might call it,
that reaches the soul and withers every power one possesses."

He said a lot more, for he, too, was wholly unable to stem the torrent
once it broke loose; but I have forgotten it; or, rather, mercifully I
did not hear it, for I stopped my ears and only heard the occasional
words when I took my fingers out to find if he had come to an end. In
due course he did come to an end, and there we left it, for I then knew
positively what he already knew: that somewhere here in the night, and
within the walls of this very barn where we were sitting, there was
waiting Something of dreadful malignancy and of great power. Something
that we might both have to face ere morning, and Something that he had
already tried to face once and failed in the attempt.

The night wore slowly on; and it gradually became more and more clear to