"I? Oh, I scarcely know what I felt. I must say, though, that squatting in the dark, and saying nothing for such an age, and—and all the rest of it, doesn't exactly toughen one's nerves. That little demon of a Rip quite gave me the horrors when he started barking. What fools we are! I should think nothing of mounting a dangerous horse, or sailing a boat in rough weather, or risking my life as we all do half our time in one way or another. Yet a dog and a dark room give me the shudders. Funny, Val, isn't it?"
Valentine answered, "If it is a dog and a dark room."
"What else can it possibly be?" Julian said with an accent of rather unreasonable annoyance.
"I don't know. But I did draw the curtain completely over the door to-night. Julian, I am getting interested in this. Perhaps—who knows?—in the end I shall have your soul, you mine."
He laughed as he spoke; then added:
"No, no; I don't believe in such an exchange; and, Julian, I scarcely desire it. But let us go on. This gives a slight new excitement to life."
"Yes. But it is selfish of you to wish to keep your soul to yourself.
I want it. Well, au revoir, Val; to-morrow night."
"Au revoir."
After Julian had gone Valentine went back into the drawing-room and stood for a long while before the "Merciful Knight." He had a strange fancy that the picture of the bending Christ protected the room from the intrusion of—what?
He could not tell yet. Perhaps he could never tell.