Page:Weird Tales Volume 5 Number 1 (1925-01).djvu/176



HE only man who knew the story was Carson, and he never told it. He was as hard-headed a man as you could find in the country and his pride was that he wasn't superstitious.

When Sellars called on him that evening he left the monstrous tale in Carson's breast. True, he repudiated, ten minutes later, the confession made, evidently, in a moment of weakness.

"You can't go back on your statements like that, Sellars," the physician said quietly. "Even if the hop has so undermined your system that it's but a matter of weeks, you're not insane. You are as sane as I am, and you're lying to me when you try to get out of it like that."

"Swear to me that you'll never tell—never tell. All made up of whole cloth—spun you a yarn—don't know why. All rot, Carson, old man. Promise—to forget it!"

"I would promise, and welcome," said the other slowly, "if it weren't for the victims. The child, man! You know, Sellars, your case is serious. If you die with that on your soul! I guess I'm old-fashioned and all that; but the child, apart from the—the other thing—abandoned, as you say, in the woods! See a priest—let me call in Father Quinn. My God, Sellars!"

Sellars laughed, a trifle uneasily The doctor's blue eyes widened with horror.

"You won't see a priest, Sellars?" he pleaded.

"No, damn the priest—damn you, if you believe the rot I gave you a while back. I made it up—always was a bit theatrical—I lied—"

"You lie now, Sellars, you know that"; and the keen eyes bored to the shrunken soul rattling in the frail body before him. "Stop lying, man. You are about to die; it's no use blinking the fact. Common decency, even if you have no respect for religion—"

With an oath, the other turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

ES, Martha was dead and gone There was no doubt about that. Yet, as Sellars glanced uneasily about the one little room comprizing the old ramshackle cabin in the midst of the marsh, he had an eery sensation that she was present. He had a feeling that she was trying to impress her presence on him, that she was vainly trying to communicate with him.

This was the third day that he had passed alone in the old cabin since Martha died. But three days—they seemed like years. Like years it seemed since he had returned in his 176