stead came again doubt and foreboding with my devil that gibbered upon my heels; demons and evil things seemed all about me. But suddenly I came out upon a narrow track or rather footpath and though the kindly sun contrived to send down a fugitive shaft ever and anon, yet my depression was in no wise abated and I began to hurry my steps, anxious to be out of these dismal shadows. All at once I halted, for before me was a lofty wall and I saw that the path led to a low-arched doorway or postern, a small door but of great apparent strength, that seemed to scowl upon me between its deep buttresses. And now as I gazed there grew within me an indefinable feeling, a growing certainty of something very threatening and sinister about this door, and turning, I hasted back along the path, turning neither to right nor left, hurrying as from something beyond expression evil. Nor did I stop or glance back until I was out in the pure sunshine and the cosy inn of the "Soaring Lark" seemed to smile at me beyond broad meadows, blinking its bright casements like so many bright eyes in cheery welcome. But even so I shivered, for the gloomy shadow of the wood seemed all about me still and therewith a growing depression that would not be banished but held me in thrall despite sunshine and cheery inn. What was it that I feared? I asked myself, and why--why--why? I found Anthony awaiting me, but even his cheer presence failed to dispel my gloom. And so in a while, my horse being ready, we set out for London with hearty "God-speeds" from George and his wife Mary. But all the way back, my mind still laboured with these same perplexing questions: What was it that I feared? And why--why--why? And thereto I found no answer. CHAPTER IV OF A SCARABAEUS RING AND A GOSSAMER VEIL "Ye're a little pale--yes, a trifle haggard, Perry, but there's nothing like a romantic pallor to attract the feminine regard and captivate the female heart, my boy--I'm married and I know! But your dress is a thought too sombre, I think, considering your youth, though I'll admit it suits you and there's a devilish tragic melancholy Danish-air about ye as should nail the female orb--" "Don't be an ass, Anthony. How is my cravat?" "Work of art, begad! How are my pantaloons, Perry? My tailor's made 'em too loose, the damned scoundrel. I'm wrinkled like a rhinoceros, by heaven! Keep your eye on 'em when I bend--" "My dear Anthony," said I, "if they were any tighter you couldn't bend--" "Well, my coat, Perry--how is it behind?" "Admirable!" "Feels like a sack, demmit! My Loveliness has the eye of a hawk, you'll understand--hasn't seen me for a whole month--nothing like first impressions, begad. Feels like an accursed sack, I tell you--" "Gentlemen, the carriage awaits!" murmured Clegg from the doorway. "What--already?" cried Anthony, clapping on his hat and reaching for his surtout.