“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.