in front of me, and I could plainly see the dark line of rope that fastened it to the beam.  I then noticed for the first time that it was swinging and turning in the air, and that as I approached it seemed to move along the beam, so that the same distance was always maintained between us.  The only thing I could do—­for there was no time to hesitate—­was to jump at it through the air and slash at the rope as I dropped.

I seized the knife with my right hand, gave a great swing of my body with my legs and leaped forward at it through the air.  Horrors!  It was closer to me than I knew, and I plunged full into it, and the arm with the knife missed the rope and cut deeply into some substance that was soft and yielding.  But, as I dropped past it, the thing had time to turn half its width so that it swung round and faced me—­and I could have sworn as I rushed past it through the air, that it had the features of Shorthouse.

The shock of this brought the vile nightmare to an abrupt end, and I woke up a second time on the soft hay-bed to find that the grey dawn was stealing in, and that I was exceedingly cold.  After all I had failed to keep awake, and my sleep, since it was growing light, must have lasted at least an hour.  A whole hour off my guard!

There was no sound from Shorthouse, to whom, of course, my first thoughts turned; probably his flow of words had ceased long ago, and he too had yielded to the persuasions of the seductive god.  I turned to wake him and get the comfort of companionship for the horror of my dream, when to my utter dismay I saw that the place where he had been was vacant.  He was no longer beside me.

It had been no little shock before to discover that the ally in whom lay all my faith and dependence was really frightened, but it is quite impossible to describe the sensations I experienced when I realised he had gone altogether and that I was alone in the barn.  For a minute or two my head swam and I felt a prey to a helpless terror.  The dream, too, still seemed half real, so vivid had it been!  I was thoroughly frightened—­hot and cold by turns—­and I clutched the hay at my side in handfuls, and for some moments had no idea in the world what I should do.

This time, at least, I was unmistakably awake, and I made a great effort to collect myself and face the meaning of the disappearance of my companion.  In this I succeeded so far that I decided upon a thorough search of the barn, inside and outside.  It was a dreadful undertaking, and I did not feel at all sure of being able to bring it to a conclusion, but I knew pretty well that unless something was done at once, I should simply collapse.

But, when I tried to move, I found that the cold, and fear, and I know not what else unholy besides, combined to make it almost impossible.  I suddenly realised that a tour of inspection, during the whole of which my back would be open to attack, was not to be thought of.  My will was not equal to it.  Anything might spring upon me any moment from the dark corners, and the growing light was just enough to reveal every movement I made to any who might be watching.  For, even then, and while I was still half dazed and stupid, I knew perfectly well that someone was watching me all the time with the utmost intentness.  I had not merely awakened; I had been awakened.