The dog’s growl came again, and I noted, subconsciously, the taint of fear in it.

Outside, on the windowsill, I could see Tip, my sister’s pet cat.  As I looked, it sprang to its feet, its tail swelling, visibly.  For an instant it stood thus; seeming to stare, fixedly, at something, in the direction of the door.  Then, quickly, it began to back along the sill; until, reaching the wall at the end, it could go no further.  There it stood, rigid, as though frozen in an attitude of extraordinary terror.

Frightened, and puzzled, I seized a stick from the corner, and went toward the door, silently; taking one of the candles with me.  I had come to within a few paces of it, when, suddenly, a peculiar sense of fear thrilled through me—­a fear, palpitant and real; whence, I knew not, nor why.  So great was the feeling of terror, that I wasted no time; but retreated straight-way—­walking backward, and keeping my gaze, fearfully, on the door.  I would have given much, to rush at it, fling it to, and shoot the bolts; for I have had it repaired and strengthened, so that, now, it is far stronger than ever it has been.  Like Tip, I continued my, almost unconscious, progress backward, until the wall brought me up.  At that, I started, nervously, and glanced ’round, apprehensively.  As I did so, my eyes dwelt, momentarily, on the rack of firearms, and I took a step toward them; but stopped, with a curious feeling that they would be needless.  Outside, in the gardens, the dog moaned, strangely.

Suddenly, from the cat, there came a fierce, long screech.  I glanced, jerkily, in its direction—­Something, luminous and ghostly, encircled it, and grew upon my vision.  It resolved into a glowing hand, transparent, with a lambent, greenish flame flickering over it.  The cat gave a last, awful caterwaul, and I saw it smoke and blaze.  My breath came with a gasp, and I leant against the wall.  Over that part of the window there spread a smudge, green and fantastic.  It hid the thing from me, though the glare of fire shone through, dully.  A stench of burning, stole into the room.

Pad, pad, pad—­Something passed down the garden path, and a faint, mouldy odor seemed to come in through the open door, and mingle with the burnt smell.

The dog had been silent for a few moments.  Now, I heard him yowl, sharply, as though in pain.  Then, he was quiet, save for an occasional, subdued whimper of fear.

A minute went by; then the gate on the West side of the gardens, slammed, distantly.  After that, nothing; not even the dog’s whine.

I must have stood there some minutes.  Then a fragment of courage stole into my heart, and I made a frightened rush at the door, dashed it to, and bolted it.  After that, for a full half-hour, I sat, helpless—­staring before me, rigidly.

Slowly, my life came back into me, and I made my way, shakily, up-stairs to bed.

That is all.

XXV