Even in the dim light of the little chamber the man could see the color drain from his sweetheart's face as she spoke.
"I've got the most awful feeling down inside of me, Mark. As if that woman was in another world, and as if she was pulling me away from you and into it. My thoughts—they're not mine; they're hers! My mind's draining out of me. Don't let me go, Mark. Don't let me! I love you, Mark—"
"Light! That's what we need!" Mark exploded into action. Sprang toward the wall switch. "Hold on, Elaine. Three hundred watts will drive that damned ghost away—"
"... I'm falling! I'm falling! Oh, Mark, I love you so! Mark, help me! Help!"
The girl's voice rose in a scream of wild terror. It tore at Mark's eardrums. Echoed through the stillness of the sleep-bound house like a banshee's wail.
The man's hand knocked up the switch. Flooded the room with light. Even as he did so he was whirling. Springing back to Elaine's side. And barely in time, for her backbone seemed to have turned to water. Her limp body was slipping to the floor in a nerveless heap, her muscles slack and unresponding. By a miracle of balance, Mark's hands caught her in time to break the force of her fall. He lifted her, unresisting, in his arms. Her ashen lips still were moving in the faintest of whispers—
"... je t'aime, mon cher, je t'aime...."
Her voice trailed off. A great sigh shook her. She lay unconscious in his arms.
Mark's brain was spinning like a top within his skull. He was breathing hard, and he was trembling, as if he had just run a long way.