We moved back a dozen yards or so.  It was like a scene in some impossible play, or in some ghastly and oppressive nightmare from which I should presently awake to find the blankets all heaped up upon my chest.

By some method undoubtedly mental, but which, in my confusion and excitement, I failed to understand, the doctor accomplished his purpose, and the next minute I heard him say sharply under his breath, “It’s out!  Now watch!”

At this very moment a sudden gust from the sea blew aside the mist, so that a lane opened to the sky, and the moon, ghastly and unnatural as the effect of stage limelight, dropped down in a momentary gleam upon the door of Sangree’s tent, and I perceived that something had moved forward from the interior darkness and stood clearly defined upon the threshold.  And, at the same moment, the tent ceased its shuddering and held still.

There, in the doorway, stood an animal, with neck and muzzle thrust forward, its head poking into the night, its whole body poised in that attitude of intense rigidity that precedes the spring into freedom, the running leap of attack.  It seemed to be about the size of a calf, leaner than a mastiff, yet more squat than a wolf, and I can swear that I saw the fur ridged sharply upon its back.  Then its upper lip slowly lifted, and I saw the whiteness of its teeth.

Surely no human being ever stared as hard as I did in those next few minutes.  Yet, the harder I stared the clearer appeared the amazing and monstrous apparition.  For, after all, it was Sangree—­and yet it was not Sangree.  It was the head and face of an animal, and yet it was the face of Sangree:  the face of a wild dog, a wolf, and yet his face.  The eyes were sharper, narrower, more fiery, yet they were his eyes—­his eyes run wild; the teeth were longer, whiter, more pointed—­yet they were his teeth, his teeth grown cruel; the expression was flaming, terrible, exultant—­yet it was his expression carried to the border of savagery—­his expression as I had already surprised it more than once, only dominant now, fully released from human constraint, with the mad yearning of a hungry and importunate soul.  It was the soul of Sangree, the long suppressed, deeply loving Sangree, expressed in its single and intense desire—­pure utterly and utterly wonderful.

Yet, at the same time, came the feeling that it was all an illusion.  I suddenly remembered the extraordinary changes the human face can undergo in circular insanity, when it changes from melancholia to elation; and I recalled the effect of hascheesh, which shows the human countenance in the form of the bird or animal to which in character it most approximates; and for a moment I attributed this mingling of Sangree’s face with a wolf to some kind of similar delusion of the senses.  I was mad, deluded, dreaming!  The excitement of the day, and this dim light of stars and bewildering mist combined to trick me.  I had been amazingly imposed upon by some false wizardry of the senses.  It was all absurd and fantastic; it would pass.