And her wide eyes, like Throckmartin's, glowed with the lurking, unholy fires.

She pressed against him closely; though the hordes kept up the faint churning, these two kept ever together, as though bound by unseen fetters.
And I knew the girl for Edith, his wife, who in vain effort to save him had cast herself into the Dweller's embrace! "Throckmartin!" I cried.

"Throckmartin! I'm here!" Did he hear?
I know now, of course, he could not.
But then I waited--hope striving to break through the nightmare hands that gripped my heart.
Their wide eyes never left me.

There was another movement about them, others pushed past them; they drifted back, swaying, eddying--and still staring were lost in the awful throng.
Vainly I strained my gaze to find them again, to force some sign of recognition, some awakening of the clean life we know.

But they were gone.