But he knew that he had good cause. Utter darkness is a horror of itself when the confusion of being helpless and in total ignorance of one's position is superadded. Nature plays strange pranks then with one's mental faculties, even as she does with a traveller in some dense fog, or the unfortunate who finds himself "bushed," or lost in the primeval forest, far from help and with the balance of his mind upset. He learns at such a time that his boasted strength of nerve is very small indeed, and that the bravest and strongest man may succumb to a dread that makes him as timid as a child. Small as was the space in which he stood, and easy as it would have been, after a little calm reflection, to find door or window, Guest felt that he was rapidly losing his balance; for he dare not stir, face to face as he was with the dread that Stratton really was mad, and that in his cunning he had seized this opportunity for ridding himself of one who must seem to him like a keeper always on the watch to thwart him. He remained there silent, the cold sweat breaking out all over his face, and his hearing strained to catch the sound of the slightest movement, or even the heavy breathing of the man waiting for an opportunity to strike him down. For it was in vain to try and combat this feeling. He could find no other explanation in his confused mental state. That must be Stratton's intention, and the only thing to do was to be on the alert and master him when the time for the great struggle came. There were moments, as Guest stood there breathing as softly as he could, when he felt that this horrible suspense must have been going on for hours; and, as he looked round, the blackness seemed to be full of strange, gliding points of light, which he was ready to think must be Stratton's eyes, till common-sense told him that it was all fancy. Then, too, he felt certain that he could hear rapid movements and his enemy approaching him, but the sounds were made by his own pulses; otherwise all was still as death. And at the mental suggestion of death his horror grew more terrible than he could bear. He grew faint and giddy, and made a snatch in the air as if to save himself. The sensation passed off as quickly as it came, but in those brief moments Guest felt how narrow was the division between sanity and its reverse, and in a dread greater now than that of an attack by Stratton, he set his teeth, drew himself up, and forcing himself to grasp the fact that all this was only the result of a minute or two in the darkness, he craned forward his neck in the direction of where he believed Stratton to be, and listened. Not a breath; not a sound. There was a clock on the mantelpiece, and he tried to hear its calm, gentle tick, but gave that up on the instant, feeling sure that it must have been neglected and left unwound, and nerving himself now, he spoke out sharply: