For a while we chatted on ordinary subjects, and then, remounting our horses, we prepared to ride back.  During this time I had felt entirely free from any of the strange influences I have described, and I began to wonder at it; especially so as Miss Forrest had voluntarily come to my side, and we had galloped away together.

We took a roundabout road to Temple Hall, and so were longer together, and again I was happy.

“I thought you were not coming,” she said.  “What in the world drew you away so suddenly?”

I tried to tell her, but I could not.  Every time I began to speak of the influence Voltaire had exerted I was seemingly tongue-tied.  No words would come.

“I was very sorry,” I said at length, “but you did not want a companion.  Mr. Voltaire came.”

“Yes, he overtook us.  Is he not a wonderful man?”

“Yes,” I said absently.

“I was so sorry you allowed yourself to be placed under his influence last night.  Did you not hear me asking you to avoid having anything to do with him?”

“Yes,” I said, “I am sorry.  I was a coward.”

“I do not understand him,” she said.  “He fascinates while he repels.  One almost hates him, and yet one is obliged to admire him.  No one could want him as a friend, while to make him an enemy would be terrible.”

I could not help shuddering as she spoke.  I had made him my enemy, and the thought was terrible.

“He does not like you,” she went on; “he did not like the way you regarded his magical story and his thought-reading.  Were I you, I should have no further communications with him.  I should politely ignore him.”

I watched her face as she spoke.  Surely there was more than common interest betrayed in her voice; surely that face showed an earnestness beyond the common interest of a passing acquaintance?

“I do not wish to have anything to do with him,” I said, “and might I also say something to you?  Surely if a man should avoid him, a woman should do so a thousand times more.  Promise me to have nothing to do with him.  Avoid him as you would a pestilence.”

I spoke passionately, pleadingly.  She turned her head to reply, and I was bending my head so as not to miss a word when a subtle power seized me.  I did not wait for her reply, but turned my head in a different direction.

“Let us join the others,” I stammered with difficulty, and rode away without waiting for her consent.

She came up by my side again presently, however, but there was a strange look on her face.  Disappointment, astonishment, annoyance, and hauteur, all were expressed.  I spoke not a word, however.  I could not; a weight seemed to rest upon me, my free agency was gone.

“How do you know they are in this direction?” she said at length.  “We have come a circuitous route.”

“They surely are,” I said.  The words were dragged out of me, as if by sheer force of another will, while I looked vacantly before me.