paused in the waning north light to see what fresh nightmare might be waiting me. There was certainly something human on the floor, and I reached for the switch to turn on the chandelier.

"But as the light flashed up, my gaze left the floor and its horror—that was Marsh, poor devil!—to fix itself frantically and incredulously upon the living thing that cowered and stared in the open doorway leading to Marsh's bedroom. It was a tousled, wild-eyed thing, crusted with the dried blood and carrying in its hand a wicked machete which had been one of the ornaments of the studio wall. Yet even in that awful moment I recognized it as one whom I had thought more than a thousand miles away. It was my own boy Denis—or the maddened wreck which had once been Denis.

"The sight of me seemed to bring back a trifle of sanity—or at least of memory—in the poor boy. He straightened up and began to toss his head about as if trying to shake free from some enveloping influence. I could not speak a word, but moved my lips in an effort to get back my voice. My eyes wandered for a moment to the figure on the floor in front of the heavily draped easel—the figure toward which the strange blood-trail led, and which seemed to be tangled in the coils of some dark, ropy object. The shifting of my glance apparently produced some impression in the twisted brain of the boy, for suddenly he began to mutter in a hoarse whisper, the purport of which I was soon able to catch.

"'I had to exterminate her—she was the devil!—the summit of high-priestess of all evil—the spawn of the pit—Marsh knew, and tried to warn me. Good old Frank! I didn't kill him, though I was ready to before I realized. But I went down there and killed her—then that cursed hair——'

"I listened in horror as Denis choked, paused, and began again.

"'You didn't know—her letters got queer and I knew she was with Marsh. Then she nearly stopped writing. He never mentioned her—I felt something was wrong, and thought I ought to come back and find out. Couldn't tell you—your manner would have given it away. Wanted to surprise them. Got here about noon today—came in a cab and sent the house-servants all off—let the field hands alone, for their cabins are all out of earshot. Told McCabe to get me some things in Cape Girardeau and not bother to come back till tomorrow. Had all the niggers take the old car and let Mary drive them to Bend Village for a vacation—told 'em we were all going on some sort of outing and wouldn't need help. Said they'd better stay all night with Uncle Scip's 

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