A light was shining in my eyes and I was talking excitedly; that and
the odor of brandy I remember--and something else, a steady roaring in
my ears; then darkness, out of which came a voice, empty, meaningless,
finally soundless.
After a while I realized that I was in pain; that, at intervals,
somebody forced morsels of ice between my lips; that the darkness
around me had turned grayer.
Time played tricks on me; centuries passed steadily, year following
year--long years they were, too, with endless spring-tides, summers,
autumns, winters, each with full complement of months, and every month
crowded with days. Space, illimitable space, surrounded me--skyless,
starless space. And through its terrific silence I heard a clock
ticking seconds of time.
Years and years later a yellow star rose and stood still before my
open eyes; and after a long while I saw it was the flame of a candle:
and somebody spoke my name.
"I know you, Speed," I said, drowsily.
"You are all right, Scarlett?"
"Yes,... all right."
"Does the candle-light pain you?"
"No;... do they contract?"
"A little.... Yes, I am sure the pupils of your eyes are contracting.
Don't talk."
"No;... then it was concussion of the brain?"
"Yes;... the shock is passing.... Don't talk."
Time moved on again; space slowly contracted into a symmetrical shape,
set with little points of light; sleep and fatigue alternated with
glimmers of reason, which finally grew into a faint but steady
intelligence. And, very delicately, memory stirred in a slumbering
brain.
Reason and memory were mine again, frail toys for a stricken man, so
frail I dared not, for a time, use them for my amusement--and one of
them was broken, too--memory!--broken short at the moment when full in
my face I had felt the hot, fetid breath of a lion.
"Speed!"
"Yes; I am here."
"What time is it?"