And, realizing this, though in some part of me where Reason lost her hold, there rose upon me then another and a darker thing that caught me by the throat and made me shrink with a sense of revulsion that touched actual loathing.  I knew instantly whence it came, this wave of abhorrence and disgust, for even while I saw red and felt revolt rise in me, it seemed that I grew partially aware of the layer next below the goblin.  I perceived the existence of this deeper stratum.  One opened the way for the other, as it were.  There were so many, yet all inter-related; to admit one was to clear the way for all.  If I lingered I should be caught—­horribly.  They struggled with such violence for supremacy among themselves, however, that this latest uprising was instantly smothered and crushed back, though not before a glimpse had been revealed to me, and the redness in my thoughts transferred itself to color my surroundings thickly and appallingly—­with blood.  This lurid aspect drenched the garden, smeared the terraces, lent to the very soil a tinge as of sacrificial rites, that choked the breath in me, while it seemed to fix me to the earth my feet so longed to leave.  It was so revolting that at the same time I felt a dreadful curiosity as of fascination—­I wished to stay.  Between these contrary impulses I think I actually reeled a moment, transfixed by a fascination of the Awful.  Through the lighter goblin veil I felt myself sinking down, down, down into this turgid layer that was so much more violent and so much more ancient.  The upper layer, indeed, seemed fairy by comparison with this terror born of the lust for blood, thick with the anguish of human sacrificial victims.

Upper!  Then I was already sinking; my feet were caught; I was actually in it!  What atavistic strain, hidden deep within me, had been touched into vile response, giving this flash of intuitive comprehension, I cannot say.  The coatings laid on by civilization are probably thin enough in all of us.  I made a supreme effort.  The sun and wind came back.  I could almost swear I opened my eyes.  Something very atrocious surged back into the depths, carrying with it a thought of tangled woods, of big stones standing in a circle, motionless, white figures, the one form bound with ropes, and the ghastly gleam of the knife.  Like smoke upon a battlefield, it rolled away....

I was standing on the gravel path below the second terrace when the familiar goblin garden danced back again, doubly grotesque now, doubly mocking, yet, by way of contrast, almost welcome.  My glimpse into the depths was momentary, it seems, and had passed utterly away.

The common world rushed back with a sense of glad relief, yet ominous now forever, I felt, for the knowledge of what its past had built upon.  In street, in theater, in the festivities of friends, in music-room or playing field, even indeed in church—­how could the memory of what I had seen and felt leave its hideous trace?  The very structure of my Thought, it seemed to me, was stained.