He slept, and dreamt he was in hell! He struggled madly, and the struggle with an over-whelming mass of fiends, who were dragging him towards a caldron full of pitch, roused him. The madness, indeed, lasted only a few minutes, and left him wide awake. He woke with a violent start, and looked hurriedly around him. All was still.
He sat up. A sensation of damp upon his chest troubled him. He thrust his hand into his inner pocket, and drew out—the handkerchief!
With a curse he flung it from him—far as he could throw it— gazing at it with wide, fascinated eyes. For the moment he was afraid of it; then sense returned to him, and all his old strength, and he was himself again. He picked up the handkerchief deliberately, and placed it once more in his pocket. A grim smile at his own folly lit his dark features.
Even as he so sat smiling at his past weakness, a strange sound smote upon his ear. It was the sound of some heavy body falling on the ground. Seemingly it came from the next room—from the room where the dead body lay. He rose and went quietly to the door of it, and stood there listening. And as he listened a low crooning smote upon his ear. How well he knew it!
The boy! How had he come there, with all the doors locked? He now went quickly forward, through the door and into the room beyond. There he stood still, as if frozen into stone. An awful sight awaited him!
....
The bed he had left so decorously arranged was now in frightful disorder. The clothes were flung here and there, and on the floor, half out of the bed and half in it, lay—his wife.
Her arms were flung out, and her head was lying on one arm, the scanty gray locks parted, and showing bald patches in this place and that. The face was almost hidden, but he could see the nose and a little blood coming from it.
As he stood gazing at it, a movement on his right attracted him. It came from behind the curtains—a squat, unwieldy form, with working mouth and eyes on fire. He knew it. It was his—son!
The poor creature drew closer and closer by degrees to the form upon the floor, as if frightened, and not understanding. When had he ever before seen his mother like this? But as he came up to her he touched her, and, getting no response, he touched her again, and again, and finally, as if some light had dawned upon his darkened mind, he caught her, and lifted her head upon his knees, and began to lavish on her a whole world of endearments. Standing behind the bed-curtains, as he had stood for hours, in a dull, faithful determination to be near her, he had seen her fall out of bed, and then surprise and horror had produced that crooning noise that Darkham had heard. He now bent his face to hers, and with uncouth gestures tried to wipe away the blood that was already congealing round the nostrils.