Waking like that in the dead of night it all seemed very queer to me; for to see my father's eyes bent upon me so, and to hear his "Why, Tommy, why?" was somehow vaguely troubling. The clothes across my chest felt very heavy all at once, and my limbs seemed bound to the bed; for there was something that held me there and wouldn't let me move. A kind of spell was upon me, and I felt I wanted to scream. And then my father rose and began pacing the room, and the horrid charm snapped. I gave a great gulp, and realized I had been holding my breath all the while; and the numbness fell from my limbs, and they were mine once more to move as I would. My father came to a halt and sat on the bed beside me. I was quite awake now and understood something of his drift. He began to speak again, but his tone was calmer: "One way of ridding yourself of an enemy, Tommy, is to set another on his track. When you can't fight your own battles, perhaps if you are clever enough, you may get another to fight them for you. Now suppose...." "Oh, daddy, I see, I see," I cried, for I loved to display my sagacity before my father. "Well," he smiled at me. "Why," I went on breathlessly, "it's Shadow-of-Fear." I paused for a moment at the awful name and looked furtively about me, repeating in a lower tone, "Shadow-of-Fear." I took courage again and continued: "He couldn't catch you, so he made the smugglers think you were a spy." "Quite right, Tommy; full marks," said my father. "But ..."--and now he leant over me and said very slowly and solemnly--"how does he know the sign of the burn? How does he know, Tommy? How does he know?" And again something of the tone that had frightened me rang in his voice. "Daddy, he's wonderful," I said; for that was my simple creed. I think the childish words relieved the tension of his mind, for he laughed brightly, and tucking in the bed-clothes about my shoulders he told me to get back to my dreams. When I woke later all was dark, and he was sleeping peacefully at my side. But that wasn't the last of my strange awakenings. It must have been two nights later when I found myself lying on my back gazing at the ceiling in that state of strange awareness which precedes full consciousness. Dimly the utter quietness of the room made itself felt like a pressure at my heart, and my ears seemed to be straining out to an infinite distance to catch some faintest echo of sound. And the room was full of light. In sudden alarm I sprang up, but was immediately reassured, for my father was sitting with his arms across the table, his head thrown forward, asleep. I could see the slow heaving of his shoulders as he breathed.