the delusion of former days had developed into a monomania, and any
attempt on his part to warn Jack would only seem to confirm this theory.
In that case only one way was left open. He must plead with Reginald
himself, confront at all risks that snatcher of souls. To-night he would
not fall asleep. He would keep his vigil. And if Reginald should
approach his room, if in some way he felt the direful presence, he must
speak out, threaten if need be, to save his friend from ruin. He had
fully determined upon this course when a cry of joy from Ethel, who had
just returned from her walk, interrupted his reverie. But her gladness
changed to anxiety when she saw how pale he was. Ernest recounted to
her the happenings of the day, from the discovery of his novel in
Reginald's desk to the conversation which he had accidentally overheard.
He noticed that her features brightened as he drew near the end of his
tale.

"Was your novel finished?" she suddenly asked.

"I think so."

"Then you are out of danger. He will want nothing else of you. But you
should have taken it with you."

"I had only sufficient presence of mind to slip it back into the drawer.
To-morrow I shall simply demand it."

"You will do nothing of the kind. It is in his handwriting, and you have
no legal proof that it is yours. You must take it away secretly. And he
will not dare to reclaim it."

"And Jack?"