I do not, even at this hour, realize the situation in which I found myself.  I cannot recall the astounding incident thoroughly.  Imagination in vain tries to compass the awful paradox.

It breathed.  I felt its warm breath upon my cheek.  It struggled fiercely.  It had hands.  They clutched me.  Its skin was smooth, like my own.  There it lay, pressed close up against me, solid as stone,—­and yet utterly invisible!

I wonder that I did not faint or go mad on the instant.  Some wonderful instinct must have sustained me; for, absolutely, in place of loosening my hold on the terrible Enigma, I seemed to gain an additional strength in my moment of horror, and tightened my grasp with such wonderful force that I felt the creature shivering with agony.

Just then Hammond entered my room at the head of the household.  As soon as he beheld my face—­which, I suppose, must have been an awful sight to look at—­he hastened forward, crying, “Great heaven, Harry! what has happened?”

“Hammond!  Hammond!” I cried, “come here.  O, this is awful!  I have been attacked in bed by something or other, which I have hold of; but I can’t see it,—­I can’t see it!”

Hammond, doubtless struck by the unfeigned horror expressed in my countenance, made one or two steps forward with an anxious yet puzzled expression.  A very audible titter burst from the remainder of my visitors.  This suppressed laughter made me furious.  To laugh at a human being in my position!  It was the worst species of cruelty. Now, I can understand why the appearance of a man struggling violently, as it would seem, with an airy nothing, and calling for assistance against a vision, should have appeared ludicrous. Then, so great was my rage against the mocking crowd that had I the power I would have stricken them dead where they stood.

“Hammond!  Hammond!” I cried again, despairingly, “for God’s sake come to me.  I can hold the—­the thing but a short while longer.  It is overpowering me.  Help me!  Help me!”

“Harry,” whispered Hammond, approaching me, “you have been smoking too much opium.”

“I swear to you, Hammond, that this is no vision,” I answered, in the same low tone.  “Don’t you see how it shakes my whole frame with its struggles?  If you don’t believe me, convince yourself.  Feel it,—­touch it.”

Hammond advanced and laid his hand in the spot I indicated.  A wild cry of horror burst from him.  He had felt it!

In a moment he had discovered somewhere in my room a long piece of cord, and was the next instant winding it and knotting it about the body of the unseen being that I clasped in my arms.

“Harry,” he said, in a hoarse, agitated voice, for, though he preserved his presence of mind, he was deeply moved, “Harry, it’s all safe now.  You may let go, old fellow, if you’re tired.  The Thing can’t move.”

I was utterly exhausted, and I gladly loosed my hold.