Would Heaven not come to her aid? She was but a weak woman who in vain--too often in vain--had tried to snatch a few moments of happiness from life. Ah! If Death knew what a service he would render her! But no! She would brace her heart strings more than ever. She would renew her fight with dusk and madness. She would face and challenge each mad phantom--make it speak--reveal itself,--or she would break the silence of that monstrous place at least with her own voice. Though flesh was weak she would be strong to-night--but--ah God! here they came trooping out of the night. She cowered back, shuddering, her eyes fixed on the dusky depths of the chamber. It was the blue one--the one whose limbs and cheeks seemed made of pale blue ice. She felt her limbs growing numb. But she would bar its way. The finger of the freezing shape was on its lip. Did it mean that it was dumb? Well, then, let it speak by signs. The dim blue rays that draped its silence quaked like aspens. "Who are you?" she forced herself to speak. "Are you Hate? You shake your head? Are you Despair? No? Not that? Then you must be Fear!" The figure nodded with a horrible grin. "Fear of what?" The phantom passed its finger slowly across its throat. She held on to the panelling to keep from falling. Her woman's strength had bounds. But she recovered herself and forced herself to speak. "Ah!" she said, "it is this she contemplates? How soon? I needs must know. How many twilights have I still to live, before they sink my body in yonder lotus pond?" The phantom held up three fingers. "Only three," Hellayne babbled like a child, talking to herself. "Well--pass upon your way, phantom.--You have given me all you had to give--three dusks to rise to Heaven." She raised her eyes in prayer and a strange rapture came into her face. But it vanished suddenly--and once more she stared, shuddering, into the gloom. For craze and hell still prevailed. Look, there it came! What new and monstrous phantom was swaying and groping towards her? A headless monk!--The air grew black with horror. Horror shrivelled her skin, was raising the roots of her hair. It was for her he was groping. Her wits were beginning to leave her. She had to move this way and that to avoid him. She felt, if he only touched her, madness would win the day. And he groped and groped, and she seemed to feel him near to her. "Away! Away!" she shrieked. But she was wasting her breath. He had neither eyes to see nor ears to hear. And he groped and groped, as if he felt her already under his vague, white hands. "Help--God!" she shrieked. Nature could not cope with such shapes as these! And Hellayne fell forward in a swoon. It was late in the night when she regained consciousness. She opened her eyes. The shapes of dusk had gone. She was alone--alone on the stone floor of the chamber. Everything was still in the long dusky gallery beyond. Perhaps it was all over for the night, and yet--what was there upon the threshold?