I went on by myself. Shall I confess my superstition? I thought the dog's desertion of me a bad omen.
Arrived at the tree, I placed myself under it. The minutes followed each other uneventfully. The cloudy sky darkened. The dull surface of the grass showed no shuddering consciousness of an unearthly creature passing over it.
I still waited, with an obstinacy which was fast becoming the obstinacy of despair. How long an interval elapsed, while I kept watch on the ground before me, I am not able to say. I only know that a change came.
Under the dull gray light I saw the grass move--but not as it had moved, on the day before. It shriveled as if a flame had scorched it. No flame appeared. The brown underlying earth showed itself winding onward in a thin strip--which might have been a footpath traced in fire. It frightened me. I longed for the protection of the Invisible Presence. I prayed for a warning of it, if danger was near.
A touch answered me. It was as if a hand unseen had taken my hand--had raised it, little by little--had left it, pointing to the thin brown path that wound toward me under the shriveled blades of grass.
I looked to the far end of the path.