Though I was genuinely possessed by this strange vision, though it was no make-believe, I could not help injecting a little Kansas horse-play into it....

I sank my teeth in “Naa’s” shoulder, till she cried aloud.  I seized her by the hair and dragged her till she lay prone on the floor.

I stood over her, making guttural noises, which I did so realistically that it made shivers run up and down my back while doing it....

I was almost as frightened as she was.

Before I knew it, she was thinking I had suddenly gone mad.  She was shouting “Mubby” for help—­her husband’s pet name....

The little fool!  I caught her over the mouth with a grim hand.

“Don’t do that ... can’t a fellow play once in a while?”

“But it wasn’t all play, was it?”

“No, I really saw the cave, and the primeval landscape.

“Shall I tell you some more?”

“No, it frightens me too much ... it seems too real.  And you’ve bruised me, and my head feels as if you’ve torn half my hair out.”

“Why did you call out your husband’s pet name?”

“I don’t know ... did I?”

“Yes!”

“After a pause in the dark.

“Tell me, was he ... was Mubby.. back there, in our former life?”

“O yes, he was there.”

“And Darrie, too?”

“Yes, Darrie, too!”

“If my name was Naa and your name was Kaa, what were their names?”

“Mubby was named Baa and Darrie was Blaa!”

This convulsed Hildreth.

“You great, big, sweet fool of a poet, I do love you, I really do!”

* * * * *

“We were made for each other in every way ... my head just fits your shoulder,” she observed quaintly.

* * * * *

“Mubby came down to me this morning,” said Hildreth one evening, “and pleaded to be taken back again ... as husband....”

“And what?—­”

“What did I do?... when I love you?... the mere idea made me sick to think of.  I couldn’t endure him again.”

* * * * *

One afternoon Penton and Hildreth were closeted together from lunch to dark.  It was my turn to cry out in my heart, and suffer agonies of imagination.

* * * * *

The next morning Hildreth began packing up, with the aid of Mrs. Jones.  I came upon her, in the library, where I had gone to get a book.  My face fell dismally.

“I can’t endure it any longer, Johnnie, I’m going back home, to New York ... my father will take me in.”

“And how about me?”

“—­wait patiently a few days then, if you still feel the same about me, follow me!... and, until you come to join me, write me at least three times a day.”

“I’ll do it ...” then I couldn’t help being playful again, “I’ll write you entirely in cave-fashion.”