He felt very tired, and yet he must walk on. He could not remember where it was he had come from, but he knew that when he reached his journey’s end he would be safe, and that now he was in danger. Something was pursuing him. He could not see it; he could not hear it; it was still a long way off; but he knew that it was coming. This high wall beside which he had been walking for hours seemed endless. Then, with a thrill of dismay, he discovered that though he was walking he was not moving. This gate straight before him was the same gate he had seen an hour ago. He broke into a run, but when he stopped the gate was still there.... Perhaps if he went through it he might reach the house sooner! He felt that he must get home early or something dreadful would happen. Early!――but it was already dark as pitch! the roads were deserted; he was walking in the night! Where had he been then? Why had he taken so long? And that gate, with its tall spiked bars!――how could he open it or climb it? Even as he wondered, it swung slowly back, and Grif hastily stepped inside. Then the gate closed behind him with a heavy metallic clang, that struck upon his ears, cold and sinister, like a note of doom. At the same moment the moon swam out and he saw that he was in a graveyard. He had made a mistake; he must get out again quickly; it was madness to linger in such places, and so far from home. He wrenched at the gate, in terror, but it would not open. The moon shone full upon a white tomb just at his feet, and he read the name on it, and, in a flash, remembered everything. Mr. Bradley was buried here. He must get out quickly. He beat and hammered at the bars in an agony of fear, but his blows fell soft as summer rain upon them, though the effort he made brought the sweat out on his body. Oh joy! the lock was yielding a little. If the gate would only open at once he might still escape! Then, down below him, down under the tomb at his feet, he heard a long low chuckling laugh that froze the blood in his veins.... He staggered and fell back. It seemed to him that he was lying on his own bed in his own room, and that the shadow was once more lurking in the corner. He watched it draw nearer and at last lean over him, but he could not move hand or foot to fight against it, nor could he utter a sound. He felt it creeping over the bed now, settling down upon him like a cold heavy mist. He could make out a dim crouching form, he could see through the misty coil two white blazing eyes. The long cold fingers were at his throat; they tightened; they choked him; but when he tried to tear them away he could clutch nothing; there was nothing there.