Hour by hour the clouds thickened, obscuring every ray of light, closing
the avenues of sight and sound, until, isolated from the outer world by
this intangible yet impenetrable barrier, Darrell was alone in a world
peopled only with the phantoms of his imagination. Of the lapse of time,
of the weary procession of days and nights which followed, he knew
nothing. Day and night were to him only an endless repetition of the
horrors which thronged his fevered brain.
Again and again he lived over the tragic scene in the sleeping-car, each
iteration and reiteration growing in dreadful realism, until it was he
himself who grappled in deadly contest with the murderer, and the latter
in turn became a monster whose hot breath stifled him, whose malign,
demoniacal glance seemed to sear his eyeballs like living fire. Over and
over, with failing strength, he waged the unequal contest, striving at
last with a legion of hideous forms. Then, as the clouds grew still more
dense about him, these shapes grew dim and he found himself, weak and
trembling, adrift upon a sea of darkness whose black waves tossed him
angrily, with each breath threatening to engulf him in their gloomy
depths. Desperately he battled with them, each struggle leaving him
weaker than the last, until at length, scarcely breathing, his strength
utterly exhausted, he lay watching the towering forms as they swept
relentlessly towards him, gathering strength and fury as they came. He
saw the yawning abysses on each side, he heard the roar of the
on-coming waves, but was powerless to move hand or foot.
But while he waited in helpless terror the waves on which he tossed to
and fro grew calm; then they seemed to divide, and he felt himself going
down, down into infinite depths. The sullen roar died away; the darkness
was flooded with golden light, and through its ethereal waves he was
still floating downward more gently than ever a roseleaf floated to
earth on the evening's breath. Through the waves of golden light there
came to him a faint, distant murmur of voices, and the words,--
"He is sinking fast!"
He smiled with perfect content, wondering dreamily if it would never
end; then consciousness was lost in utter oblivion.
* * * * *
Three weeks had elapsed since Darrell came to The Pines. August had
given place to September, but the languorous days brought no cessation
of the fearful heat, no cooling rain to the panting earth, no promise of
renewed life to the drought-smitten vegetation. The timber on the ranges
had been reduced to masses of charred and smouldering embers, among
which the low flames still crept and crawled, winding their way up and
down the mountains. The pall of smoke overhanging the city grew more and
more dense, until there came a morning when, as the sun looked over the
distant ranges, the landscape was suffused with a dull red glare which
steadily deepened until all objects assumed a blood-red hue. Two or
three hours passed, and then a lurid light illumined the strange scene,
brightening moment by moment, till earth and sky glowed like a mass of
molten copper. The heat seemed to concentrate upon that part of the
earth's surface, the air grew oppressive, and an ominous silence
reigned, in which even the birds were hushed and the dumb brutes cowered
beside their masters.
As the brazen glow was fading to a weird, yellow light, an anxious group
was gathered about Darrell's bedside. He still tossed and moaned in
delirium, but his movements had grown pathetically feeble and the moans
were those of a tired child sobbing himself to sleep.
"He cannot hold out much longer," said Dr. Bradley, his fingers on the
weakening pulse, "his strength is failing rapidly."
"There will be a change soon, one way or the other," said the nurse,
"and there's not much of a chance left him now."
"One chance in a hundred," said Dr. Bradley, slowly; "and that is his
wonderful constitution; he may pull through where ninety-nine others
would die."
Dr. Bradley watched the sick man in silence, then noting that the room
was darkening, he stepped to an open window and cast a look of anxious
inquiry at the murky sky. As if in answer to his thought, there came the
low rumble of distant thunder, bringing a look of relief and hopefulness
to the face of the physician. Returning to the bedside, he gave a few
directions, then, as he was leaving, remarked,--
"There will be a change in the weather soon, a change that may help to
turn the tide in his favor, provided it does not come too late!"
Hours passed; the distant mutterings grew louder, while the darkness and
gloom increased, and the sense of oppression became almost intolerable.
Suddenly the leaden mass which had overspread the sky appeared to drop
to earth, and in the dead silence which followed could be heard the roar
of the wind through the gorges and down the canyons. A moment more, and
clouds of dust and debris, the outriders of the coming tempest, rushed
madly through the streets in whirling columns towering far above the
city. From their vantage ground the dwellers at The Pines watched the
course of the storm, but only for a moment; then blinding sheets of
water hid even the nearest objects from view, while lightnings flashed
incessantly and the thunder crashed and rolled in one ceaseless,
deafening roar. The trees waved their arms in wild, helpless terror as
one and another of their number were prostrated by the storm, while the
dry channels on the mountain-side became raging, foaming torrents.
Suddenly the winds changed, a chilling blast swept across the plateau,
and to the rush of the wind, the roar of the thunder, and the crash of
falling timber was added the sharp staccato of swiftly descending hail.
For nearly an hour the storm raged in its fury, then departed as
suddenly as it came; but it left behind a clear atmosphere, crisp as an
October morning.
As the storm clouds, touched with beauty by the rays of the setting sun,
were settling below the eastern ranges, Dr. Bradley again entered the
sick-room. The room was flooded with golden light, and the physician was
quick to note the changes which the few hours had wrought in the sick
man. The fever had gone and, his strength spent, his splendid energies
exhausted, life's forces were ebbing moment by moment.
"He is sinking fast," said Mrs. Dean.
Even as she spoke a smile stole over the pallid features; then, as they
watched eagerly for some token of returning consciousness, the nervous
system, so long strained to its utmost tension, suddenly relaxed and
utter collapse followed.
For hours Darrell lay as one dead, an occasional fluttering about the
heart being the only sign of life. But late in the forenoon of the
following day the watchers by the bedside, noting each feeble pulsation,
thinking it might be the last, felt an almost imperceptible quickening
of the life current. Gradually the fluttering pulse grew calm and
steady, the faint respirations grew deeper and more regular, until at
length, with a long, tremulous sigh, Darrell sank into slumber sweet and
restful as a child's, and the watchers knew that the crisis had passed.
_Chapter V_