He dived past me and was out in
a moment. He was labouring evidently under intense excitement. I watched
him picking his way silently over the slippery ground, giving the moving
tent a wide berth, and presently disappearing among the floating shapes
of fog.
Dr. Silence turned to me. "You heard those footsteps about half an hour
ago?" he asked significantly.
"I heard nothing."
"They were extraordinarily soft--almost the soundless tread of a wild
creature. But now, follow me closely," he added, "for we must waste no
time if I am to save this poor man from his affliction and lead his
werewolf Double to its rest. And, unless I am much mistaken"--he
peered at me through the darkness, whispering with the utmost
distinctness--"Joan and Sangree are absolutely made for one another. And
I think she knows it too--just as well as he does."
My head swam a little as I listened, but at the same time something
cleared in my brain and I saw that he was right. Yet it was all so weird
and incredible, so remote from the commonplace facts of life as
commonplace people know them; and more than once it flashed upon me that
the whole scene--people, words, tents, and all the rest of it--were
delusions created by the intense excitement of my own mind somehow, and
that suddenly the sea-fog would clear off and the world become normal
again.
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