LIKE one in a daze Fillmore had watched his enemy rush from him. Rocks and boulders had encompassed his enemy on every side, yet he not only climbed over them, but actually passed through them—and Fillmore watched him disappear, stupefied at this impossible happening.

Now in spite of his consuming hate which had destroyed his sense of proportion, John was a man of analytical turn of mind and this new order of things he stopped to solve. He looked about him and he saw that he was sitting on a boulder and other boulders were on top of him. In fact, he was encased in boulders and yet he could move his arms and legs freely through the boulders—and this fact stunned him.

He tried to reason, and reason told him something had happened. Were these rocks substance or shadow? He stood up straight to test the idea, and found that he could not only move but could walk as though walking on air. He looked around seeking some explanation and he noticed two forms locked in embrace lying at his feet, and he recognized them AS HIMSELF AND BATES.

Then the truth was brought home to him. He was dead and yet alive. But he felt more intensely alive than he had ever been. His movements were freer. He breathed more easily,—or did he breathe at all? He tested this theory. He found that he could breathe if he wished, but not breathing at all caused him no discomfort.

He gazed at the two silent figures, crushed and mangled. What had taken place? Closing his eyes he determined to solve the mystery; yet closing his eyes had no effect on his vision. He could not only see through these mangled forms, but could distinguish rocks to unknown depths. He examined the forms closely and saw his knife in the hand of the corpse and yet he held that knife in his hand still. How could it be that knife? He knew that he had only one knife. He examined his clothing and found it of the same texture and quality as that on the mangled remains. “Dead,” he muttered; “dead, and yet alive! Am I dreaming?” He beat at his head in despair, but felt no effects of the blows; and he laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of it all. “Too unreal,” he muttered. “Too fantastic. I will awake soon.” But he did not awake.

Slowly, as time went on, some inner voice seemed to whisper, “Why be fearful? This is only the natural order of things.