In the midst of wild, rolling clouds, the moon was a drowning face. Stunted trees bent before the wind like
puny men who strained impotently to advance. Over there was one more like a real man--a figure, Bobby
thought, with a black thing over its face--a mask.
"This is the forest near the Cedars," Bobby said to himself. "I've come to face the old devil after all."
He heard his own voice, harsh, remote, unnatural, speaking to the dim figure with a black mask that waited
half hidden by the straining trees.
"Why am I here in the woods near the Cedars?"
And he thought the thing answered:
"Because you hate your grandfather."
Bobby laughed, thinking he understood. The figure in the black mask that accompanied him was his
conscience. He could understand why it went masked.
The wind resumed its whispering. The figures, straining like puny men, fought harder. The drowning face
disappeared, wet and helpless. Bobby felt himself sinking back, back into the sable pit.
"I don't want to go," he moaned.
A long time afterward he heard a whisper again, and he wondered if it was the wind or his conscience. He
laughed through the blackness because the words seemed so absurd.
"Take off your shoes and carry them in your hand. Always do that. It is the only safe way."
He laughed again, thinking:
"What a careful conscience!"
He retained only one more impression. He was dully aware that some time had passed. He shivered. He
thought the wind had grown angry with him, for it no longer whispered. It shrieked, and he could make
nothing of its wrath. He struggled frantically to emerge from the pit. The quality of the blackness deepened.
His fright grew. He felt himself slipping, slowly at first then faster, faster down into impossible depths, and
there was nothing at all he could do to save himself.
* * * * *
"Go away! For God's sake, go away!"
Bobby thought he was speaking to the sombre figure in the mask. His voice aroused him to one more effort at
escape, but he felt that there was no use. He was too deep.
Something hurt his eyes. He opened them and for a time was blinded by a narrow shaft, of sunlight resting on
his face. With an effort he moved his head to one side and closed his eyes again, at first merely thankful that
he had escaped from the black hell, trying to control his sensations of physical evil. Subtle curiosity forced its
way into his sick brain and stung him wide awake. This time his eyes remained open, staring about him,
dilating with a wilder fright than he had experienced in the dark mazes of his nightmare adventure.
He had never seen this place before. He lay on the floor of an empty room. The shaft of sunlight that had