And she knew all this the instant that she woke; for it seemed to her that she had been elsewhere—­following her husband—­as though she had been out!  There was no dream at all, merely the definite, haunting certainty.  It dived away, lost, buried in the night.  She sat upright in bed.  She had come back.

The room shone pale in the moonlight reflected through the windows, for the blinds were up, and she saw her husband’s form beside her, motionless in deep sleep.  But what caught her unawares was the horrid thing that by this fact of sudden, unexpected waking she had surprised these other things in the room, beside the very bed, gathered close about him while he slept.  It was their dreadful boldness—­herself of no account as it were—­that terrified her into screaming before she could collect her powers to prevent.  She screamed before she realized what she did—­a long, high shriek of terror that filled the room, yet made so little actual sound.  For wet and shimmering presences stood grouped all round that bed.  She saw their outline underneath the ceiling, the green, spread bulk of them, their vague extension over walls and furniture.  They shifted to and fro, massed yet translucent, mild yet thick, moving and turning within themselves to a hushed noise of multitudinous soft rustling.  In their sound was something very sweet and sinning that fell into her with a spell of horrible enchantment.  They were so mild, each one alone, yet so terrific in their combination.  Cold seized her.  The sheets against her body had turned to ice.

She screamed a second time, though the sound hardly issued from her throat.  The spell sank deeper, reaching to the heart; for it softened all the currents of her blood and took life from her in a stream—­towards themselves.  Resistance in that moment seemed impossible.

Her husband then stirred in his sleep, and woke.  And, instantly, the forms drew up, erect, and gathered themselves in some amazing way together.  They lessened in extent—­then scattered through the air like an effect of light when shadows seek to smother it.  It was tremendous, yet most exquisite.  A sheet of pale-green shadow that yet had form and substance filled the room.  There was a rush of silent movement, as the Presences drew past her through the air,—­and they were gone.

But, clearest of all, she saw the manner of their going; for she recognized in their tumult of escape by the window open at the top, the same wide “looping circles”—­spirals as it seemed—­that she had seen upon the lawn those weeks ago when Sanderson had talked.  The room once more was empty.

In the collapse that followed, she heard her husband’s voice, as though coming from some great distance.  Her own replies she heard as well.  Both were so strange and unlike their normal speech, the very words unnatural.

“What is it, dear?  Why do you wake me now ?” And his voice whispered it with a sighing sound, like wind in pine boughs.