She stretched out her hand to rise from the bed, and it touched something rough and hard, making her withdraw it, but only to stretch it forth again and find that she was touching wood and roughened stone.
“Where am I?” she said, softly; and as she spoke she made out tiny sparks of light.
“Gil’s signals!” she cried. “But why does he show them now?”
She tried to get off the bed, but no bed was there; and, after feeling about for a few minutes, she clasped her hands to her head.
“What does this terrible silence mean?” she faltered. “Where am I? Where is Gil?”
There was the slow drip of the water for answer—nothing more; and she tried to recall the past.
“I have been to sleep,” she said, “heavily asleep: and yet I don’t know.”
She tried to collect her thoughts, but seemed to grow more confused.
“I must have been very ill,” she said, at last. “And it began directly I had drunk of that water. But how long is it ago? And why is it so dark? Where am I?”
Weak and prostrated by the terrible shock she had suffered, a curious sensation of stupor overcame her once more, and she crouched down to save herself from falling, as she dropped into a feverish sleep.