It stuck to the roof of his mouth.
The perspiration stood out upon his brow in thick beads.
Presently, when a sound came from him, it was a dull, hollow moan of anguish, that sounded like the echo of some "yawning grave."
A sound which seemed to contain the pent-up agony of a whole lifetime of suffering.
But his tormentors were merciless.
They did not budge.
"Away, horrible creatures!" gasped the miserable wretch, in tones scarcely louder than a whisper. "Away, and hide yourselves!"
And he strove to drag the coverlet over his head.
But there was a fearful fascination in it which forced him in spite of himself to look again.
"I know you are unreal," he faltered. "I know my mind is wandering—that I fancy it all—all. Begone! away!"