Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 01.djvu/83

Rh even breathing beside me. I didn't want to wake him, but I had to know if there were really someone—or something—in the tent. I switched on a flashlight I kept under my pillow. The canvas walls contained nothing that had not been there when I went to sleep.

The light hit Harvey's face and when I saw it I caught my breath. He was still asleep but stamped upon his countenance was an expression of ineffable content, and even more, for added to it was a rapture beyond any I had been able to bring to his face.

I knew without telling that he was dreaming of her—that she was there. I too had felt something in the room; I felt it still.

Then all at once that feeling left me and at the same time the light died away from Harvey's face. He stirred restlessly. "Why? Why do you fr—" he muttered and then fell into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

I switched off my light, buried my head in the pilllow and sobbed, my whole being racked with grief. How could I compete with anyone, dream or real, who could bring a look like that to a man's face. It was almost morning before I cried myself to sleep.

next day I asked Harvey if he had had a dream and he said no. He said it so furtively that I would have known he lied even if I hadn't seen his beatified expression in the night. Evidently he had made up his mind not to tell me any more about his dream woman. This was an added blow and made me more miserable than ever. I would do my best to fight the dream, but having to fight deceit too made it all the harder. That night I prayed for help to conquer the dream woman and win Harvey's thoughts solely for myself.

About midnight I awoke suddenly as I done the night before. But this time, instead of an alien presence, I sensed danger!

It had been a hot night and we had left the flap of the tent open. In the dim light from the embers of the dying fire I saw Harvey bending over me. His eyes were fixed—the eyes of a sleep-walker. His right hand was raised and something bright and sharp glistened in his hand.

The innate instinct of preservation that is part of us all acted for me—I rolled aside just as the knife came flashing down.

As it buried itself in the mattress I could not prevent the scream that rose involuntarily to my lips.

The next thing I was conscious of was Harvey's puzzled voice: "Irene, Irene—where are you?" and then the voice of Juan, our Mexican guide, anxiously asking: "Señora, what is it?"

I raised myself to hide the dagger in the bed and answered the guide: "I thought I saw something but there's no one here. Will you shut the tent flap, please?"

"Si, Señora. There is no one. I will watch—fear nothing."

The opening was soon covered and Harvey lit our oil lamp. His fingers shook as he held the match.

"What was it? I heard you scream and I woke up to find myself standing by the bed."

I still hid the knife. "Did you dream, Harvey?" I asked.

This time he didn't lie, "Yes—She came to me. She wanted me to do something." I could see the effort he was making to remember. Then suddenly an expression of horror froze his face. "She wanted me to kill—you—My God! Irene, did I try—"

I moved aside so he could see the knife plunged deep into the mattress where my heart should have been.

Harvey gave one agonized look then dropped on his knees beside me, great sobs racking his body. "Irene, my darling, to think I might have—"

I soothed him as though he had been a little child frightened by the dark. After