CHAPTER III.
EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF HUGH PAULL.
July—, 18—.
Am I awake? Is my visit to the Pinewood a dream? No, no, it has all happened—one of the strangest experiences that ever befell mortal man.
It has been like a visit to some new world: the impressions have been so strong. It is the Pinewood which seems the reality, and this, my hospital life, a dream. To my horror, things are growing shadowy. I cannot concentrate my thoughts upon my cases; and when the fellows or the nurses ask me anything, I am not “all there.” At last the climax came this morning. An epileptic case came in, and Dr. Hildyard asked my opinion upon his diagnosis. My mind was a blank. Suddenly I could have sworn I heard a laugh—her laugh.
I will write it all down, that is what I will do; then perhaps I may forget.
I left London last Saturday week morning, in the full possession of my senses (of that I feel sure). I can remember everything—all the details of the journey down to F——, through the heathery moorland, the firwoods, the cornfields.
No one waiting at F—— station. Taking my bag, I was leaving, intending to make inquiries as to the whereabouts of the Pinewood and to walk, when an old coachman, perched up on the driving-seat of a high dogcart, touched his hat and said:
“The gentleman for the Pinewood?”
“I am going to the Pinewood,” I said.
“The doctor, sir, what attended Sir Roderick in London?”