After that there were no more interruptions--only the white smudge of Tansy's face in the darkness. When he had finished his voice was tired, too. There was a pause. Then she said, "I'll do what you want me to. I'll burn all my stuff. I'll never touch it again." He snapped on the light, and it seemed to him that science and healthy skepticism had been created anew from the primeval dark. The hands of his watch stood at ten thirty. Then he saw that Tansy had begun to cry. "Darling," she managed to say, "don't you see this is what I've wanted? Only I'd gotten in so deep I never dared. On your account. You had to find out and make me stop. That was the only way." What followed was oddly anticlimactic--the ransacking of the house for all of Tansy's hidden charms. First the contents of the dressing table. He found then that he could be generous in his victory because his trust in Tansy was re-established--he did not demand to look into her locked little leather-bound diary, when she told him it contained no relevant material. Then the rest of the house, Tansy darting from room to room, deftly recovering flannel-wrapped "hands" from the upholstery of chairs, the under sides of table tops, the interior of vases, until he marveled that he had lived in the house for more than ten years without chancing on any. "It's rather like a treasure hunt, isn't it?" she observed with a rueful smile. There were others outside--under front and back doorsteps, in the garage, and in the car. With every handful thrown on the roaring fire he had built in the living room, his sense of relief grew. Finally, she opened the seams of the pillows on his bed and carefully fished out two little matted shapes made of feathers bound with fine thread, so they blended with the fluffy contents of the pillow. "See, one's a heart, the other an anchor. That's for security," she told him. "New Orleans magic. You haven't taken a step for years without being in the range of one of my protective charms." The feather figures puffed into flame and were gone in an instant. "There, that's the last one of them," she said. "All gone." "You're sure?" For a moment his voice grew hard again. "Absolutely certain you haven't overlooked any?" "Absolutely certain. There's not one left in the house. I've gone over it in my mind a dozen times. I'm tired now, really tired. I want to go straight to bed." Suddenly she began to laugh. "Oh, but first I'll have to stitch up those pillows, or there'll be feathers all over the place." He put his arms around her. "Everything O.K. now?" "Yes, darling. Only one thing I want to ask you--that we don't talk about this for a few days at least. I'm really terribly ashamed. But I'm glad it's happened, remember that." * * * * *