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I came to myself slowly and painfully. I was conscious of an aching head and a shooting pain down my left arm when I tried to move, and everything seemed dream-like and unreal. Nightmare visions floated before me. I felt myself falling-falling again. Once Harry Rayburn's face seemed to come to me out of the mist. Almost I imagined it real. Then it floated away again, mocking me. Once, I remember, some one put a cup to my lips and I drank. A black face grinned into mine-a devil's face, I thought it, and screamed out.
Then dreams again-long troubled dreams in which I vainly sought Harry Rayburn to warn him-warn him-what of? I did not know myself.