I glanced up at my mother, half resolved.  She was leaning forward a little and gazing into the fire, that lit up her pale face and wonderful eyes with a sympathetic softness.  I can remember now how sweet she looked and how weary—­that tender figure outlined in warm glow against the stern, dark room.  And all the time her heart was slowly breaking with yearning for him that came not.  I did not know it then; but when does childhood know or understand the suffering of later life?  I looked down upon the page once more, turned back a leaf or two, and read: 

“Then did Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his mind whether to go back or stand his ground.  But he considered again that he had no armour for his back, and therefore thought that to turn his back to him might give him greater advantage, with ease to pierce him with his darts; therefore he resolved to venture and stand his ground.”

“I come on them in bed sometimes, and sometimes from behind.”  The words of my Apollyon came across my mind.  Should I speak and seek counsel?—­What was that?

It was a tear that fell upon my hand as it lay across my mother’s lap.  Since the day when father left us I had never seen her weep.  Was it for my deceit?  I looked up again and saw that her eyes were brimming with sorrow.  My fears and doubts were forgotten.  I would speak and tell her all my tale.

“Mother.”

Somewhat ashamed at being discovered, she dried her eyes and tried to smile—­a poor pitiful smile, with the veriest ghost of joy in it.

“Yes, Jasper.”

“Is Apollyon still alive?”

“He stands for the powers of evil, Jasper, and they are always alive.”

“But, I mean, does he walk about the world like a man?  Is he really alive?”

“Why, no, Jasper.  What nonsense has got into your head now?”

“Because, mother, I met him to-day.  That is, he said he was Apollyon, and that he would come and carry me off if—­”

Half apprehensive at my boldness, I cast an anxious look around as I spoke.  Nothing met my eyes but the familiar furniture and the dancing shadows on the wall, until their gaze fell upon the window, and rested there, whilst my heart grew suddenly stiff with terror, and my tongue clave to my mouth.

As my voice broke off suddenly, mother glanced at me in expectation.  Seeing my fixed stare and dropped jaw, she too looked at the window, then started to her feet with a shriek.

For there, looking in upon us with a wicked smile, was the white face of the sailor Rhodojani.

For a second or two, petrified with horror, we stood staring at it.  The evil smile flickered for a moment, baring the white teeth and lighting the depths of those wolfish eyes; then, with a fiendish laugh, vanished in the darkness.

He had, then, told the truth when he promised to haunt me.  Beyond the shock of mortal terror, I was but little amazed.  It seemed but natural that he should come as he had threatened.  Only I was filled with awful expectation of his vengeance, and stood aghast at the consequences of my rashness.  By instinct I turned to my mother for protection.