A moment I stood swaying before her, with leveled revolver—as I had stood on that other occasion, months before.
Slowly, I lowered the revolver, and smiled—not as Louis would have smiled but as a maniac, formed in his likeness, would have smiled.
Her lips framed the word “Louis,” but, in the grip of despair, she made no sound. It was the despair not merely of a woman who felt herself doomed to death, but of a woman who consigned her loved one to a fate worse than death.
Still I smiled—with growing difficulty, for Louis’ personality was restive and my time in the usurped body was short.
In that moment, I was not anxious to give up his body. At this new glimpse of her beauty through physical sight, my love for Velma flamed into hitherto unrealized intensity. For an instant my purpose in returning was forgotten. Forgotten was the knowledge of the ages which I had sipped since last I occupied the body in which I faced her. Forgotten was everything save—Velma.
As I took a step forward, my arms outstretched, my eyes expressing God knows what depth of yearning, she uttered a scream.
Blackness surged over me. I stumbled. I was being forced out—out—— That cry of terror had vibrated through the soul of Louis and he was struggling to answer it.
Instinctively, I battled against the darkness, clung to my hard-won ascendancy. A moment of conflict, and again I prevailed.
Once more I smiled. The effect of it must have been weird, for I was growing weaker and Louis had returned to the attack with overwhelming persistence. My tongue strove for expression:
“Sorry—Winkie—it won’t happen again—I’m not—coming—back——”