“Onward!” said a distant voice.

The temple vanished, and with it all my realization of life, save a vague fancy that I was moving somewhere, I knew not where.

* * * * *

I stood by a well-remembered spot.  I was by the side of Drearwater Pond.  Around me was a stretch of common land, on which grew heather and furze.  In front of me were noiseless waters, a dismal sight at the best of times, but awful as I saw them.  Across the pond in the near distance loomed the dark fir trees.  No sound broke the stillness of the night.  The wind had gone to rest, the moon shone dimly from behind the misty clouds.

I stood alone.

Each minute my surroundings became more real.  I recognized more clearly the objects which had struck me during my first visit, while the stories which had been told came back to me with terrible distinctness.  I remembered how it had been said that the pond had no bottom, and that it was haunted by the spirits of those that had been murdered.  The story of its evil influence came back to me, and in my bewildered condition I wondered whether there was not some truth in what had been said.

What was that?

The waters moved; distinctly moved near to where I stood, and from their dark depths something appeared—­I could not at first tell what.

What could it be?  A monster of frightful mien? the ghost of some murdered man or woman?  I could have believed in either just then.  It was neither.

What then?  A human hand, large and shapely, appeared distinctly on the surface of the pond.  Nothing more, not even the wrist to which it might be attached.  It did not beckon, or indeed move at all; it was as still as the hand of death.

I stood motionless and watched, while the outline of the hand became more clear; then I gave an awful shudder.

The hand was red.

I gave a shriek, and for a time remembered nothing more.

* * * * *

I awoke to consciousness, fighting.  At first it seemed as if I was fighting with a phantom, but gradually my opponent became more real to me.  It was Kaffar.

I had only a dim hazy idea of what I was doing, except that I sought to wrest from his hand a knife.  We clutched each other savagely, and wrestled there on the edge of the pond.  Weights seemed to hang upon my limbs, but I felt the stronger of the two.  Gradually I knew I was mastering him—­then all was blank.

* * * * *

A sound of voices.  A flash of light.  A feeling of freedom, and I was awake!

Where?

Still by Drearwater Pond.  No phantoms, no shadow, nothing unreal, save the memory of that which I have but dimly described.  That was but as a terrible nightmare—­an awful dream.

Where was Kaffar?

I could not tell.  Certainly he was not near; but two other forms stood by me, one bearing a lantern.