“I know George hasn’t worshipped the snake since that time, for I’ve been in the house every night and you can always tell because of the incense that fills the hall and lingers there for hours. Christmas Eve will be the next dark of the moon. I know, for I’ve looked it up. We’ll all be in the Berkshires then, at the Peyton-Russells’. George will be there, too—and I’m afraid—I’m afraid.” Terry still sat silent looking at her with an expression of helpless amazement. His blue eyes were troubled and doubting and she knew that while he did not quite disbelieve her, he was by no means convinced, that her fears were justified. It was all too bizarre and unusual. The only trace of fear in his eyes was for herself, not for Gloria, or Professor Pendragon. She had been bending eagerly toward him. Now she sank back with a little helpless sigh. Instantly Terry’s hand reached across the table and caught her own in a comforting grip. “Tell me what you want me to do, Ruth; I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything for you—anything in or out of reason. I don’t understand all this talk about snakes and black magic, but whatever you want done, you can depend on me.” The blood rushed into Ruth’s cheeks in a glow of happiness. Something deeper than friendship thrilled in his voice. For a moment she forgot Gloria, and believed that she was looking into the eyes of her own acknowledged lover. Then she remembered. His words, even his eyes told her that he did, but it could not be true. For a moment she could not speak. She must think of Gloria first and herself afterward, but she wanted to prolong her dream a little while. Finally she told him what she had decided in her own mind was the only thing that Terry could do for her. She knew that he did not believe that George was menacing the life of Professor Pendragon, or that he was influencing Gloria to marry Prince Aglipogue, but even though he did not love her, he would do whatever she asked. “I want you to get me a revolver, Terry; I want a revolver—one of those little ones—before we go to the Christmas party.” She did not quite understand the curious “let down” expression on Terry’s face, when she made her request. “You don’t want to shoot George or the snake?” he asked, smiling. “I don’t want to shoot any one or any thing unless—anyway I’d feel much more comfortable if I had a little revolver.” “You shall have one; I’ll call it a Christmas present; but can you shoot?” “I don’t know. I suppose I could hit things if they weren’t too far away or too small.” “If you accidentally kill any of your friends I shall feel morally responsible, but I suppose I’ll just have to take a chance. Do you by any chance want the thing to be loaded?” “Of course,” said Ruth, ignoring his frivolous tone.