Free Randalls Round by Eleanor Scott

that too; and he bolted every window in the tiny house. Then, and not till then, did he pause to wonder at his own precipitate flight. He was trembling violently, his breath coming in painful gasps. He told himself that he had acted like a hysterical old maid – like a schoolgirl. And yet he could not bring himself to open a window. He went into the little sitting-room and made up the fire to an unwonted size; then he tried to take an interest in Father Vétier’s library of devotional books until the little curé himself should return. He was nervous and uneasy; it seemed to him that he could hear some creature (he told himself that it must be a large dog, or perhaps a goat) snuffling about the walls and under the door… He was inexpressibly relieved when at last he heard the short, decided step of the curé coming up the path to the house.
    Maddox was restless that night. He had short, heavy snatches of sleep in which he was haunted by dreams of pursuit by that flat, hooded being; and once he woke with a strangled cry and a cold shudder of disgust from a dream that, in his flight, he had stumbled and fallen face downwards on something soft and cold which moved beneath him – a mass of toads… He lay awake for a long time after that dream; but he eventually slipped into a drowsy state, half waking and half sleeping, in which he had an uncomfortable impression that he was not alone in the room – that something was breathing close beside him, moving about in a fumbling, stealthy way. And his nerves were so overwrought that he simply had not the courage to put out a hand and feel for the matches lest his fingers should close on – something else. He did not try to imagine what.
    Towards dawn he fell into an uneasy doze, and awoke with a start. Some sound had awakened him – a melancholy howling cry rang in his ears; but whether it had actually sounded or whether it was part of his memories and evil dreams he could not tell.
    He looked ill and worn at breakfast, and gave his bad night as an excuse for failing to continue his work on the old wall. He spent a wretched, moping day; he could settle to nothing indoors.
    At last, tempted by the mellow October sun, he decided to go for a brisk, short walk. He would return before dusk – he was quite firm about that – and he would avoid the lonely reaches of the shore.
    The afternoon was delicious. The rich scent of the gorse and heather, warm in the sun, and the cool touch from the sea that just freshened the breeze, soothed and calmed Maddox wonderfully. He had almost forgotten his terrors of the night before – at least, he was able to push them into a back corner of his mind. He turned homewards contentedly – even in his new calm he was not going to be out after sundown – when his eyes happened to fall on the white road where the declining sun threw his shadow, long and thin, before him. As he saw that shadow, his heart gave a sudden heavy thud; for a second shadow walked beside his own.
    He spun round. No mortal creature was in sight. The road stretched empty behind him, and on either hand the moorland spread its breast to the wide sky. He ran to the presbytery like a hunted thing.
    That evening Father Vétier ventured to speak to him.
    “Monsieur,” he said, rather timidly, “I do not wish to intrude myself into your affairs. That understands itself. But I have promised my very good friend M. Foster that I will take care of you. You are not a Catholic, I know; but – will you wear this?”
    As he spoke he took from his own neck a thin silver chain to which was attached a little medal, black with age, and held it out to his guest.
    “Thank you, father,” said Maddox simply, slipping the chain about his neck.
    “Ah! That is well,” said the little curé with satisfaction. “And now, monsieur, I venture to ask you – will you let me change your room? I have one, not as good as yours, I admit it, but which has in it a small opening into the church. You will