Rena was very tired and she accepted Colin’s offer gladly and was driven home by Nixon. With Rena gone Rex’s paroxysms of delirium returned. The eye came back and sat upon the wall and the ceiling and the bureau and chairs, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, while the braid of hair wound itself now around my head and then around that of Rex, who kept asking for Rena, and became so wild that the doctor said to me at last: “I think we must send for that young lady. She does more good than both of us.” I was doubtful whether Rena would come again, but I wrote her a note telling her the state of things, and was delighted when about ten o’clock the next morning she walked into the house with Tom. He had taken the early train from Boston and stopped on his way from the station at Mrs. Parks’, where he heard from Rena all the particulars of Rex’s illness—of his looking in the well, of his hallucination with regard to the eye, and her confession to him. “It was awful,” she said, “and at first my heart beat in my throat so I could scarcely talk, and I felt as if I was about to be electrocuted. But I am glad it is over, and he did not seem angry either, only hurt, at the trick put upon him. I am going with you this morning to see him.” “But is it safe to go there so much? Aren’t you afraid of fever?” Tom asked. Mrs. Parks had suggested the same thing. She was afraid, and was fumigating with sulphur candles and chloride of lime to kill the microbes which might stray her way until the house smelled like a vault. But Rena had no fear, and was soon on her way to the McPherson place with Tom, who was very anxious about Rex and curious to know how he would receive him. I was at my wits’ end when he came, and I allowed him to go in at once, hoping he might have a quieting effect upon my patient, who was making frantic efforts to catch the eye, or rather the eyes, for the room was full of them now, and his motions were like one brushing mosquitoes from the head and face. “Hallo, Tom!” he said. “Glad to see you, but excuse me if I keep at it, driving them away. There was only one at first. I saw it in the well, you know—I was fool enough to look in—and it has been with me ever since. There’s a thousand here now. I have counted five hundred on the bed at once, winking and blinking and mocking me, and they are everywhere; shoo, shoo,” and he began to brush his hair and arms and face. It was pitiful to see him, and Tom’s chin quivered as he looked at him fighting the imaginary eyes floating before him. “Rex,” he said, sitting down upon the bed, “listen. There are no eyes here, and the one you saw in the mirror was a reflection of Irene herself standing by you in flesh and blood.”