return of this--activity. It was the first really sane moment he
had had since the 'change.' Whatever it was that had happened at
Widderstone was now distinctly weakening in effect. Why, now,
perhaps? He stole a thievish look over his shoulder at the glass,
and cautiously drew finger and thumb down that beaked nose. Then
he really quietly smiled, a smile he felt this abominable facial
caricature was quite unused to, the superior Lawford smile of
guileless contempt for the fanatical, the fantastic, and the
bizarre: He wouldn't have sat with his feet on the fender before
a burnt-out fire.

And the animosity of that 'he,' uttered only just under his
breath, surprised even himself. It actually did seem as if there
were a chance; if only he kept cool and collected. If the whole
mind of a man was bent on being one thing, surely no power on
earth, certainly not on earth, could for long compel him to look
another, any more (followed the resplendent thought) than vice
versa.

That, in fact, was the trick that had been in fitful fashion
played him since yesterday. Obviously, and apart altogether from
his promise to Sheila, the best possible thing he could do would
be to walk quietly over to Widderstone to-morrow and like a child
that has lost a penny, just make the attempt to reverse the
process: look at the graves, read the inscriptions on the
weather-beaten stones, compose himself once more to sleep on the
little seat.

Magic, witchcraft, possession, and all that--well, Mr Bethany
might prefer to take it on the authority of the Bible if it was